


DimensionX

by vandevere



Category: Law & Order
Genre: Gen, Holes in reality bring monsters from Beyond, Horror, Science Fiction, VERY AU!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-05-18 01:37:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 19,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5893069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vandevere/pseuds/vandevere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After WWII, after Hiroshima and Nagasaki, Reality's boundaries have weakened, letting <em>THINGS</em> in from the Other Side.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

_Chicago, Ill, 1950_

Several squad cars, racing against time. There had been an... _Incursion_ …

At the McCoy place.

All of the officers racing to the house, owed their careers to John J. McCoy Sr.

Officer Joe Kelly, in particular, owed everything he was to Officer McCoy. The man had been Senior Partner to Kelly when he was a green Rookie Cop.

Now, McCoy's house was invaded, his life, and the lives of his family, at risk.

These…Incursions…had started after Hiroshima and Nagasaki, after the A-Bombs had ended WWII…

Now, the entire world was paying the price…

The experts had said that something had weakened the fabric of reality, weakened the boundaries between Reality, and…

_Other realities, other dimensions…_

Every once in a while, Reality's fabric would tear, and… _things_ …would slip through.

Those moments were called Incursions, and what slipped through during these incursions was terrifying.

Men spoke of bodies… _appendages_ …eyes, and mouths in the wrong places, everything twisted out of true.

Worst of all, those…things came with a ravenous hunger.

And teeth...

The only good thing that could be said to come out of this was that national differences had been put aside in the face of this world-wide threat; the Soviet Union, and Red China too, were both plagued by these selfsame Incursions.

There was no room left anywhere for making war on other nations. All resources were going into combating these… _extra planar_ threats…

So…

An Incursion, at the house of Officer John J. McCoy Senior wasn't something to laugh about.

His wife…his kids…

Kelly, Adams, Leroux, and Stephens, the first four on the scene, were confronted by a horrifying sight.

The light flaring through the windows of the house were like no light the officers had ever seen.

_Black…_

The light was…black, somehow, even though it lit up the inside of the house just fine.

Kelly swallowed nervously, then kicked the front door in.

Dead bodies everywhere…

Rose McCoy, still wearing her apron, lying there, with open, sightless eyes, two of her children-eight year old Erin, and three year old Donny-dead by her side.

A child's scream caught Kelly's attention.

"The living room!" he ran, the other three following…

Horror greeted them there.

The rent in space was there, and coming through that tear…

Tentacles, like that of a monstrous octopus, but covered in what looked like fine quills.

One tentacle had John Senior. He was struggling, fighting to get free; his eyes on the other tentacle.

That one had an unconscious child.

_Little Jack_ …

Kelly stood there a second, assessing the situation.

Both tentacles were close to that boiling hole in reality.

_We can save one or the other. But not both._

_Shit…_

John Senior apparently knew…

"Save my boy!" he cried. "Save Jack!"

Kelly nodded; looked for something to use as a bludgeoning or stabbing weapon.

Firing a gun around children was not something he wanted to do.

He saw the kitchen knife-the big one used for carving roasts-on the floor, snatched it up; just in time to see the tentacle pull John into the hole; and John McCoy Senior was gone, into the void…

_Won't let that happen to Jack…_

All four officers jumped on the remaining tentacle, Kelly stabbing repeatedly with that kitchen knife, the others making do with batons.

Up close, Kelly realized the quills studding the tentacles weren't quills at all. They were stalks, some with disturbingly human-looking eyes at the ends, each looking up at him with hungry black-eyed gaze; others with hungry-looking mouths studded with fangs, dripping with blood.

He stabbed again and again, black, noxious-smelling blood flying; then, just before everything went tipping off into the blacker-than-black void, the thing let go of the boy, and everyone staggered backwards.

One minute later, the hole closed up, and everything was normal again.

_Normal…_

Joe Kelly ran outside the house as Leroux called for an ambulance. He looked down at the unconscious boy he held in his arms

Jack McCoy, almost ten years old, and the sole survivor of an Incursion.

Everyone else was dead.

_Or drawn into that other reality…_

He sighed.

_Death might be a kinder fate than that._

He checked Jack carefully. The teeth he had seen had been bloody. Someone had been bitten…

The bite marks were all over the boy, arms legs, neck, hands…

_Washington will probably have him put under Quarantine. Just in case he gets infected…_

He had heard stories about people who got infected, how they...changed...becoming monstrous things.

Monstrous of body...monstrous of mind...

Those were quickly killed.

The word the experts used was... _euthanasia_ …

The thought of that being done to Little Jack-Joe Kelly's Godson-was almost too much to bear…

_Please_ …Officer Kelly prayed. _Don't let that happen to Jack_ …


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Detective Lennie Briscoe gets a new partner...

_1993_

_27th Precinct, 204 West 119th Street_

"So…Who gets stuck with the loon?" Detective Mike Logan asked.

"Not you, Mike…" Sergeant Phil Cerreta responded. "And I'm off the hook too, because I'm already stuck with a loon of my very own…"

"Har-de-har…" Logan quipped back. "Still, whoever gets stuck with this guy is gonna have…an interesting time."

"To say the very least."

Cerreta and Logan were sitting in the office of the very newly-promoted Lieutenant Anita Van Buren, waiting for the poor unfortunate soul who had been detailed to partner with the Loon…

Cerreta pinched the bridge of his nose.

_In a better world the Loon would never have been allowed to become a cop_ , he thought sourly.

_Hell…in a better world, he probably wouldn't have been a loon in the first place…_

The detective in question had lost his entire family to an Incursion Event back in the Fifties. He'd been bitten too, by whatever had tried to come in during the Incursion…

Infected.

Cerreta idly wondered if the Loon had been mutated in any way, or if his reputation for lunacy had more…mundane causes.

There was a knock on the door.

_The Loon?_ Cerreta wondered. 

"Come in," Van Buren ordered.

It was Detective Leonard W. Briscoe; Lennie to one and all…

"Sorry I'm late," Lennie apologized. "Traffic's a bitch today. Is… _he_... here yet?"

"Not yet," Van Buren gestured to a chair. "He's undergoing a Mandatory Examination right now. I want to make sure he's _really_ fit to serve before I inflict him on anyone."

"Thanks," Lennie snarked as he took a seat. "I've read his record, and he…worries me."

Van Buren's office phone rang, and she picked it up.

"Yes…Good…Come in…both of you…" she put the phone down.

"They're here now," she announced.

The door knocked again...

* * *

Two men entered; one of whom the detectives knew well.

Dr. Emil Skoda, the 27th's go-to psychiatrist for everything from diagnosing the souls of murderers to the well-being of all its own people.

Instead, Lennie Briscoe focused his attention on the other man.

_The Loon…_

Detective John James McCoy didn't look like any loon Briscoe had ever seen.

Wearing jeans, button-down shirt-no tie-a shabby green jacket, and a fedora, McCoy didn't really look all that different from any other detective in the 27th.

Then, Lennie looked into the other man's dark eyes.

They were focused…entirely _too_ focused; weighing everything…measuring everything; eyes restlessly scanning the area, as if in anticipation of sudden attack. But then, again, Detective McCoy was a Shadow-stalker; and those were known to be...odd. 

_And I'm going to be his partner…_

_Oh…joy…_

The fact that Skoda was down here with McCoy meant only one thing.

_If Skoda thought McCoy was totally unfit to serve, he would have made a simple phone call, if he thought McCoy was totally fit to serve, that would have warranted a simple phone call too; but taking the time to come down here personally, with Detective McCoy in tow…_

Briscoe didn't like what that seemed to imply…

Van Buren stood, looked at Cerreta and Logan.

"Could you give us a few minutes?" she asked.

Briscoe stood too, ready to leave with the other two.

"No…Detective Briscoe," she stopped him. "Unless either Dr. Skoda or Detective McCoy have any objections, I think you should stay."

McCoy shrugged, a study of supreme indifference. Then Skoda shrugged too.

"If Jack doesn't object," the psychiatrist said. "Then I see no reason to object either."

"Good," Van Buren sat at her desk, and the others sat too.

"The examination…" she asked.

"Yes," Skoda nodded. "Detective McCoy is physically fit, and mentally fit as well."

"Excuse me," Briscoe cleared his throat. "But you could have said that through a simple phone call."

"Yes," Skoda nodded. "And if Detective McCoy hadn't been infected during an Incursion back when he was a kid, that's what I would have done. But Jack's situation is unique…"

"I'll say…" Briscoe turned to look at McCoy. "Washington was pretty focused on…let's be honest here…killing…everyone who had been infected during these Incursions; regardless of the victim's age." 

Hundreds of people-men, women, and children-had been killed during the first few years. It had been an issue of National Security. Infected people suddenly turning into monsters before the horrified eyes of their family and friends. 

_Detective McCoy was infected?_

"How did Detective McCoy manage to avoid being killed on Washington's orders?" 

"I didn't grow fangs, or extra limbs," McCoy spoke for the first time. "No eyes on my butt, no teeth on my hands; and I didn't turn homicidally crazy either. I don't have any desire to drink blood, or eat peoples' eyeballs." 

"But you _were_ infected, Detective McCoy," Van Buren said. "The report on you says you did have a mutation…" 

"It's on the molecular level," Skoda spoke up. "It affected the development of Jack's brain and nervous system. Reflexes are faster than what we might call normal, and there are indications that he perceives the world differently. By that, I mean he can see in different wavelengths. His night-sight is exceptionally good. He can also detect minute fluctuations in what the specialists call the _fabric of reality_ , meaning he can see an incoming Incursion before it happens…" 

There was more, Lennie was sure. 

"But he's fit to serve on the Force," he asked again, just to be sure. 

"Yes, Detective Briscoe. He is." 

"Everyone in Chicago calls him The Loon…Sorry Detective McCoy, but that's what they call you…" 

"Yes," there was surprisingly little bitterness in McCoy's voice; and that also worried Briscoe. 

_If my co-workers all called me that, I'd be angry. Why isn't **he** angry?_

"It's personal stuff," McCoy added. "So they thought it was weird. I don't care, and you shouldn't either." 

"Okay," 

Apparently that was a worry for another day, so Briscoe put it behind him. 

Van Buren stood, along with the others. 

"Thank you, Dr. Skoda," she said. "Now, it's time for Detectives Briscoe and McCoy to get acquainted with each other. Lennie? Why don't you show Detective McCoy to his desk?" 

Detective McCoy followed Briscoe down to the Detectives' Office Area. 

"That's your desk," Briscoe pointed to the desk right across from his; watched as McCoy draped his jacket over the back of the chair. 

As McCoy sat, Briscoe raised a hand. 

"Think we need to establish some ground rules," he added. 

"Yeah…" McCoy nodded. "You're the Senior Partner…so you're the boss. Right?" 

"For regular crimes and such, yeah…Incursion stuff, you're the lead for that; seeing as that's the reason you were transferred here in the first place. But murder, rape, and theft, I'm the boss. Agreed?" 

McCoy nodded again. 

"I can follow that," he said. 

"Good. Now…what do I call you? John? James? 

"Jack" McCoy started booting up the computer at his desk. "My friends all call me Jack." 

"Okay, Jack. Call me Lennie…" 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An Incursion in front of 1 Hogan Place...

_To: All Federal, State, and Municipal Law Enforcement Agencies._

_From: Charles Straker, Director of the Federal Bureau of Interdimensional Affairs (FBIA)_

_Subject: Shadow-stalkers_

_Please be advised that most Shadow-stalkers are Baseline Normal Human Beings who have a natural sensitivity that enables them to sense possible tears in the fabric of the spatial/quantum flux. Above-mentioned Normals, unfortunately, seem to fall, very often, within the Autism/Asperger's Diagnosis, and are often not exactly suited to the task at hand._

_Due to infection from an intra-dimensional source, there is one individual who seems to have all the appropriate qualities of a Shadow-stalker, with an apparent lack of all the drawbacks associated with Autism, and/or Asperger's._

_However, this individual comes with risks intrinsic to his very nature._

_John James McCoy, born 11/15/40, is the only survivor of an Incursion Event which took place in his family home. Just shy of his tenth Birthday, he witnessed the deaths of his entire family._

_That, alone, would make for severe trauma in any child, let alone one bitten, and infected, by the creature responsible for the attack._

_The infection, itself, is a whole different issue. While he has not manifested any of the more deleterious effects of Trans-dimensional Infection; spontaneous growth of extra limbs/appendages/teeth/claws, and/or various forms of psychosis, John James McCoy's Critical Threat Response Threshold is considerably faster than the norm._

_His sensory abilities have also been enhanced, and his ability to predict an Incursion Event remains unparalleled to this day._

_He is a fully trained Police Officer, intelligent, and driven. He is also neurotic to an exceptional degree, and it is our advice that he always be paired with an officer of steady, even temperament._

* * *

Detective Lennie Briscoe had to hand it to Detective Jack McCoy. The man believed in good hard work, in following the rules of Good Police Conduct.

When investigating… _normal_ …crimes, murder, theft… _whatever_ , McCoy was perfectly content to let Lennie take the lead, to follow his orders.

Generally, this meant following investigative leads, and letting Lennie interview the suspects; although Briscoe wasn't above having McCoy stand there, silently glowering at the suspect as the interrogation progressed.

Jack McCoy glowered quite well, after all…

A murderer had been apprehended, and now it was time for the Trial.

So, Briscoe had taken McCoy to meet Executive Assistant DA Ben Stone, and his ADA, Paul Robinette.

Just outside 1 Hogan Place, meeting with the ADAs…

"Counselors," Briscoe greeted. "I'd like to introduce you to Detective Jack McCoy."

"Pleased to meet you," Stone held out a hand, which McCoy didn't take. The detective settled for a courteous nod, keeping hands in jacket pockets, eyes restlessly scanning the area.

Stone looked at Briscoe, eyes clearly saying, _what's the matter with him?_

Lennie shrugged, and mouthed the word, _Shadow-stalker._

Stone nodded, as if it all made perfect sense…

Maybe it did.

_Too busy looking for fluctuations in the quantum flux to pay any attention to manners…_

Well…

That was Jack McCoy in a nut-shell…

Come to think of it, McCoy was scanning the area just a little _too_ intently; like a man keeping watchful eyes on a possible incoming storm…

"Jack?" he asked his partner.

"It's happening," McCoy spoke tersely.

"Incursion? Here? Now?"

Briscoe had never seen one of those before, didn't ever want to see one…

"Counselor," McCoy brought his attention back to Stone and Robinette.

"Both of you," he ordered. "Start running now. That way…"

He pointed for emphasis. Stone looked to Briscoe, who sighed.

"This is Jack's area of expertise," he said. "Do as he says; and take as many of your people with you as you can."

Then, he took out his walky-talky.

"This is Detective Briscoe. We have an Incoming Incursion in front of 1 Hogan Place; repeat, Incoming Incursion in front of 1 Hogan Place. Shadow-stalker is already on the scene, but we will need backup."

He heard the alarm go off inside the building, voice over a speaker ordering everyone to depart by the rear entrance.

Then, he brought his attention back to Jack McCoy. The man was slowly moving to the left, eyes focused upward at the cloudless blue sky.

The sky was beginning to ripple.

_Shit…_

McCoy had already taken his weapon out; not Standard Issue for Police Detectives. It looked like something out of Star Trek or Star Wars, a Sci-fi blaster…

Of course, Jack McCoy did have a Standard Issue Gun. But those didn't do much against what usually came out through these tears.

That was what the blaster was for; and that was Standard Issue for Shadow-stalkers.

Then…

_It_ happened…

It had been a sunny day, the Sun hanging directly overhead, in a cloudless blue sky.

Now, the sky was black, the Sun seemingly turned inside out, and…

It looked like a chicken leg, Chicken feet crushing the car it had landed on.

But the chicken that leg belonged to would have to have been bigger than King Kong…

Tendrils snapped out, and Lennie, heart in his throat, barely ducked in time. He literally felt the wind of its passage as it snapped over his head.

A scream behind him, and he turned, just in time to see a man, early forties, collapse, head just…sheared right off at the neck.

_That tendril took off his head?_

A brilliant blast of light almost blinded him.

McCoy's blaster, right on target.

"A little help here, Lennie?" the man's voice was strained. " _Shoot_ the fucking thing!"

_Okay…_

Briscoe drew his gun, began to plug away at the gigantic chicken leg.

_I am **never** eating chicken again…_

It didn't like all the attention it was getting. The leg lashed out, tendrils snapping, cars flying, and Briscoe threw himself forward, flat on his face.

He could hear incoming sirens.

The cavalry had arrived. Several cruisers converged on the scene, cops with guns, all firing away at the not-so-wee beastie that had just made a bus-sized hole in 1 Hogan Place.

But Lennie could tell some actual harm was being done to the creature.

The leg snarled, and that gave Lennie pause…

_The leg…snarled?_

It was almost enough to drive a man to drink.

Almost.

McCoy's blaster had scorched the…thing…up one side and down another; and still it was trying to stomp its way out of danger, kicking cars and trucks aside like soccer balls.

But Incursion Events were of relatively short duration; and this one was drawing to a close.

It had all the subtlety of a slammed door…

Suddenly, without warning, the sky was blue again, the Sun looked like the Sun again, and the Chicken leg was gone; leaving a few sheared off tendrils snapping and writhing on the cracked sidewalk.

Briscoe stood there, gun in hand, staring down at one of the tendrils as it twisted all over the sidewalk, right in front of him.

"Don't touch that!" McCoy warned him. "It's still alive."

"Don't worry about me…" Lennie stepped backward, holstering his gun, keeping his eyes on that tendril.

Jack dealt with the tendrils himself, vaporizing them with that blaster of his.

Then, it was done, and McCoy put his blaster away, shoulders slumping wearily.

Now, it was time to deal with the aftermath of the attack…

There was only one casualty, the man who had lost his head to a tendril. That body was taken by FBIA Agents who were under orders to incinerate the body. The man's Loved Ones would have to make do with a Memorial Service instead of an actual burial.

As for the rest of it…

There would be repairs to the cracked sidewalks, and also repairs to 1 Hogan Place itself.

The building's main front door had been caved in, and there was also a large hole in the right corner.

_All the lawyers will have to work someplace else for a while…_

Detective Lennie Briscoe looked around, at everyone beginning to pick themselves up after the storm, as it were…

He sighed again.

_Not eating chicken ever again..._


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day after the incursion...

"Heard you were front and center for an Incursion, Lennie" Detective Mike Logan's voice brought Detective Lennie Briscoe back to the present

"Yeah…" Briscoe nodded. "Chicken feet trying to stomp 1 Hogan Place to pieces. Almost enough to drive a man to drink…"

"Lennie…"

"I said _almost!_ " Lennie snapped. "I'm still on the wagon, Mike, and I plan to stay that way."

"So, how was McCoy?"

"His usual surly self," Lennie sighed. "But…thank god he was there. He saw it coming before it came, so we were at least a little prepared…"

_For stomping chicken feet..._

_If it had been a cartoon, it would have been funny._

_Real life? Not so much…_

"So…back to regular police work?"

"For a while, Mike. Jack says Incursions don't happen every day, so Manhattan should be safe for a while."

"So...how's he doing anyway?"

"He's doing fine," Lennie sighed. "He's a little strange, but nothing spectacular. Thanks for the coffee."

Five minutes later, Briscoe was back at his own desk; and finally, he was beginning to understand why the cops in Chicago called Jack McCoy _the Loon_ …

Miniature clocks were scattered all over the other man's desk, each and every one ticking away…

_He says the ticking sound soothes him…_

Lennie was learning how to ignore the constant ticking.

_If it cools Jack's brain, I'm all for it…_

Briscoe had read the more in-depth biography on McCoy, compiled by Washington.

_Mutations in his brain and nervous system. Jack got off lucky. He could have become a raving lunatic with all those things happening in his brain._

Instead, Jack McCoy was…just a little odd, but equipped with hyper-senses, and...odd sensitivities.

_And whopping migraines…_

The man was sitting at his desk right now, rubbing his eyes, a sure sign a Migraine was in the offing.

"Jack?" Briscoe spoke up. "You okay?"

"Just the usual," McCoy sat back, still rubbing his eyes, looking resigned to the inevitable.

"Migraine?"

"Yeah…I took my Sumatriptan, but it's not working this time."

"Want to take the day?"

McCoy's shoulders slumped.

"I don't want to," he sighed. "But…"

"Yeah…" Briscoe stood. "If it's that bad you're not going to be up to driving. I'll tell the Lieutenant, then get you home."

* * *

By the time they got to Jack McCoy's tiny little apartment, his head was throbbing so badly he thought it might explode.

"Little clocks here too…" Briscoe commented as he looked around.

"They help," McCoy said as he dropped his jacket over a chair. "Can I offer you something?"

"I don't drink, Jack,"

"I know," McCoy nodded. Briscoe had told him he was a recovering alcoholic right at the start.

"I've got tea, soda, or plain water," McCoy added.

"Thanks, Jack, but you need to rest, to ride this migraine out; and I've got a murder to investigate. Will you be fine by tomorrow morning?"

"Yeah...These things generally last just one night. I'll be fine by tomorrow."

"You've been having these Migraines for a while?"

"All my life."

_Even since the Incursion that killed my family, took my old man, and turned me into an infected freak..._

Again, McCoy sighed.

"I'll be fine, Lennie. See you tomorrow?"

"Yeah...See you then."

With that, Lennie Briscoe was gone, and Jack McCoy was alone.

Sighing, he set all the clocks to ticking, the sound filling the small place; and McCoy felt his twisted-taut nerves begin to uncoil.

Silence was the worst…

When it was silent at night, McCoy could feel the pulsing beat of his heart, and a surfing sound that might have been his brain. The ticking clocks made the sometimes maddening sounds in his head bearable.

Just the year before, he had been given a DNA test. Even the specialists had been unprepared for what they had found.

_I'm not human…not really._

He took off his tie, and loosened the top two buttons of his plain white shirt. Then, he walked into the plain bedroom, and set the little clocks ticking there too.

Now, with the ticking sound filling the apartment, filling his brain, Jack McCoy could lie down, close his eyes, and try to sleep.

Hopefully, he would sleep the entire night through, undisturbed by nightmares.

Hopefully, he wouldn't have _that_ nightmare; the one that always brought him awake, crying like a lost child.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yet another Incursion...
> 
> Minor Character Death.

_Major multi-pronged Incursion in progress at 125 East 225th Street. Shadow Stalker already on site. Proceed with caution,_ the voice said over the Detective's car radio.

This time, the incursion was so big all of the Detectives of the 27th had been called in.

_That's… **big,**_ Tony Profaci thought to himself as Sammy Kurtz parked the car in front of the big apartment building.

It was an old brick building, long past its prime, mostly rent-controlled units inside, and all the windows flashed that black light so often associated with Incursions.

Inside, Profaci could hear the SciFi sound of Detective Jack McCoy's strange blaster, and the more normal sounds of police gunfire.

_Shit's getting real…_

There was a cluster of men and women outside the building; residents who had gotten out of the building in time. Of course, not everyone would have made it out.

_Which is why we're here…_

Detectives Phil Cerreta and Mike Logan met Tony Profaci and Sammy Kurtz at the main door.

"McCoy and Briscoe are on the third floor, which is where the main action is," Cerreta informed the others. "He said something might have made it all the way through. Our job is to comb through the place, look for survivors, and get them out. _Don't_ try to be a hero, guys. Got it?"

Everyone nodded. Then, all four men split off to look through the building…

Gun drawn, Profaci ran up the nearest flight of stairs, listening for anything that could be heard. He heard a monstrous bellow up on the third floor.

_Probably whatever's trying to come through…_

Then, he heard the sound of weeping. Sounded like a child.

The apartment door stood wide open, dust particles glowing in the not natural light now filling the area.

Cautiously, Profaci entered the apartment.

"Hello? It's the Police," he called out. "You're safe now."

It was a little girl, hair in braids, wearing a pinafore, her back to him, sniffling in terror.

"Hey, little girl," Profaci spoke as gently as he could. "You're safe now. Let me get you out of here."

He bent over, laid a gentle hand on her shoulder, and turned her around…

* * *

The shriek of agony stopped Detective Mike Logan right in his tracks; cold chills running up his spine.

_Profaci?_

It sure sounded like him. Weapon drawn, Logan ran down to where he thought the sound had come from. The apartment door was wide open.

A little girl in pigtails and pinafore kneeling over a body...

It looked like Tony Profaci's body.

In the sudden silence, the little girl looked up at Logan, revealing an eyeless face.

No eyes, no nose…

Just a gaping, monstrous maw, ringed with fangs.

Logan reacted without thought. He fired, bullets passing through the creature's flesh without any effect…

"Help!" he yelled. "Officer down!"

He started to back away, still firing his gun.

The child-creature's mouth opened, and, froglike, the tongue lashed out, wrapping itself around Logan's left ankle, jerking him off his feet, gun flying out of his hand, cracking the back of his skull on the floor. He felt pure terror as the…thing wrapped around his ankle started to drag him back into the room.

Toward the child-creature with the wide open maw and fangs…

He heard footsteps running, but couldn't spare any attention to the newcomers. It took all the strength he had to keep himself from getting dragged in.

Arms under his shoulders, helping to pull him away.

Phil Cerreta, eyes filled with worry.

"Jack's coming," the man said as he continued to pull Logan back, trying to wrest Logan's ankle out of the grasp of that sticky tongue-like appendage; and it felt like a game of Tug-of-war…

_Two grown men against one little girl…_

_She_ was winning, inexorably pulling Logan back in, inch by inch...

"Phil…" Logan had never felt such terror before. "If it looks like she's gonna to take me, put a bullet through my head, okay?"

"Not gonna happen, Mike." Cerreta's voice was strained with the effort of trying to pull his friend free.

_Good old Phil…_

_Comforting to the last…_

Besides, the cavalry had arrived.

Detective Jack McCoy, weird blaster in hand, stepped around the two detectives, and entered the room.

He stood there, surveying the room, the dead body, and the monstrous occupant. Then, he fired his blaster point blank, right into the gaping maw of the creature. The head exploded, incinerated into a cloud of ash and bloody tissue.

The tongue flopped loosely and let go of Logan's leg. He scrambled back into the hall, Cerreta supporting him.

"Look at his leg," McCoy ordered. "Make sure the skin isn't broken."

_Right…One more thing to worry about…_

Shoe and sock off, both Logan and Cerreta looked at Logan's left ankle.

"Its fine…" shivers of relief ran through Logan.

No bite…no infection…

"Profaci…" he suddenly remembered, staggered back into the apartment.

The body lay there, on its back, and Logan stared at the sight in horror.

_She bit his face clean off…_

He saw naked bone and bloody jelly that was probably Profaci's brain.

Logan stumbled back out into the hall, retching at the sight as Lennie Briscoe ran up.

"You guys okay?"

" _We_ are," Cerreta spoke grimly. "Profaci's dead."

Lennie looked into the apartment, blanched when he saw Profaci's corpse, what the creature had done to it.

Jack McCoy had taken out a communicator.

"This is Shadow-stalker One," he spoke calmly. "We have two bodies at 125 East 225th. One is a Detective of Police, the other a denizen of the Other Side."

"We're sending a Disposal Unit to your site," a tinny voice responded. "Do not allow anyone to touch either body."

"Roger that…"

"Disposal Unit?" Logan wiped his mouth, choked the bile back down.

McCoy stared back at him; features calm.

"Both bodies are sources of infection," he said. "Safety Protocols require they be incinerated immediately."

"Incinerated?" Logan glared at McCoy. "What about Profaci's family? His Mother? Wife, and kids?"

"Would you rather have a repeat of the Plague of Sixty-two?"

Logan flinched. The entire population of Marburg, West Virginia, had succumbed to an Incursion-born plague…

_All because the body of a man killed by a creature from the Other Side had been improperly buried…_

"Shit…" Logan turned and walked away. He hated it, but Jack McCoy was right.

"Hey," Logan felt Phil's hand on his shoulder. "Tony's going to get a Hero's Funeral. You know that."

"Yeah…" Logan looked back at McCoy. The other detective stood there, blaster in hand, features expressionless, not a hint of mourning in him.

_Cold-hearted bastard…_


	6. Chapter 6

_That which is dead can eternal lie…_

Detective Lennie Briscoe snorted.

_Someone should have shot H. P. Lovecraft…_

According to the experts, who had been studying Incursions for over fifty years now, Lovecraft had been right all along…

Those who had witnessed what came through the holes in reality reported… _things_ …bodies twisted out of what was accepted as normal...

_Cthulhu…and all those others...Real…Not native to Earth, not even native to the universe._

Instead, it seemed they came from a… _anti-universe…_

_As Rod Serling might have said, a Universe at right angles to our own…_

It made a horrible kind of sense that Lovecraft's creatures would come from an entirely different reality.

But…

What did that mean for those who had been touched by that Other Side?

Jack McCoy…

Bitten by a creature from the Other Side, the…genetic material from another universe swam in his veins.

McCoy was as much a creature of the _that universe_ as he was a creature of this universe.

_Wonder why Washington didn't have him killed back then…_

Whoever had decided not to kill the ten-year-old Jack McCoy hadn't done so out of charity. He must have had _something_ to make him more valuable alive than dead.

_Still…having someone like him around must feel an awful lot like befriending an atomic bomb…_

Briscoe looked up from his desk, saw Jack McCoy quietly typing away on his computer, working on a report.

"Almost done with that?"

"Yeah," McCoy muttered. "Just a few more minutes, then I'm done."

"Good. Ben Stone wants us to talk to Millie Hershaw."

"Millie Hershaw…"

"Joel Hershaw's ex-wife…"

"Yes," McCoy nodded. "Think she had prior knowledge of the crime?"

"What do you think?"

"Yeah…" a brief smile twitched the corners of McCoy's lips.

* * *

_Back to plain vanilla crime…_

On the one hand, McCoy was relieved. Incursions were…dangerous affairs, even beyond the immediate danger of the moment; as Stan Profaci's death had proven.

_Things have a habit of getting through..._

Jack McCoy had dedicated his life to saving the world from those kinds of threats; the kind of threat that had killed his entire family…

_The kind of threat that turned me into…whatever it is that I am…_

McCoy was under no delusions about how he had survived Washington's scrutiny, where so many other people, including other children, hadn't.

Whatever changes had occurred in him, whatever differences from the Baseline Norm, they hadn't included gross physical aberrations, and they hadn't manifested as major psychological aberrations either.

No mania…No pathological desire to inflict harm on others...

McCoy _looked_ normal, he _acted_ normal, and his thought processes, while not quite normal, were normal enough to pass for normal.

Hell…he was considered normal enough to pursue a career in Law Enforcement.

_My old man wanted me to be a lawyer…_

John Senior was dead…or worse than dead. So Jack McCoy had been able to follow his dream; to become a Chicago cop. Now, he was in New York. And, when he wasn't fighting _Things from beyond_ , he was fighting crime; and plain vanilla crime at that…

It was boring as hell.

_Find Murderers/rapists/whatever, and nail them, whoever they were, for what they did._

* * *

It was time for Anita van Buren's monthly assessment of the 27th's resident Shadow-stalker.

Detective Lennie Briscoe was in attendance, as was Dr. Emil Skoda.

As per regulations, Briscoe kept Skoda informed whenever Jack McCoy got so much as a hangnail.

"Could those migraines of his be cause for worry?" Van Buren asked. She hadn't initially wanted Jack McCoy to be transferred to the 27th. The issues he came with were just too…worrying.

"I'll schedule a session with him in a few days," Dr. Skoda assured her.

"You know, guys…" there was an uncharacteristic hesitation to Detective Briscoe's voice.

"Jack's…okay," he continued. "The clocks just keep his brain occupied. That's all."

Van Buren nodded. But those clocks were why the Chicago PD called McCoy _the Loon_ …

Which, now that she had read the full report on Detective Jack McCoy, along with his full Medical History, didn't strike her as particularly loony.

"So you have no complaints?" she asked Briscoe again, just to be sure…

"I got tons of complaints," Lennie grinned. "But against Detective Jack McCoy? Nada, zip, zilch, and nil. He's…odd. But he's a good cop."

"That's all I wanted to hear," Van Buren smiled.

Jack McCoy was working to fit himself in; doing a good job, and being a good cop.

_One can't ask for more than that…_


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCoy sees something unexpected; with disastrous results...

_Yet another goddam Incursion…_

Detective Lennie Briscoe was running behind his partner-Detective Jack McCoy-running up flights of stairs because the power was out.

_Besides, no one in their right mind uses an elevator in the vicinity of an Incursion..._

Briscoe could feel his own breath rasping in his chest.

_How does Jack do it?_

He wasn't even close to winded.

Finally, on the fourth floor of the ritzy apartment...

Three bodies on the floor of the apartment building's main hall; tenants, bodies grasped by tentacles, slowly being dragged in…

The tear in reality was an assault on Lennie's senses. It was... _wrongness_ personified.

But, this was his third Incursion now, and Briscoe was getting used to dealing with what the tear did to his own senses.

"Try to get the tentacles to let go of the victims," Jack McCoy had ordered.

"Yeah…"

Briscoe took out his gun, and shot the grasping tentacles, taking extra care not to hurt the victims. Then, once the victims were free…

"Don't touch them just yet," McCoy warned. "They could be infected."

Something Lennie didn't want to be reminded about.

You couldn't get infected by simply touching the… _Incursees_...or their victims. But if you had an open wound…

Like most of the really terrifying diseases, blood-to-blood, and/or saliva led to certain infection.

_Which is why those damned things always bite their victims…_

Lennie sighed. One of those bodies on the floor was a child…

"Has anything gotten through yet?" he asked McCoy.

"Not yet," McCoy was peering intently at the large hole in space.

Abruptly, the hole widened; more than a notch.

"Back up, Lennie," McCoy commanded. "It's coming through now; and I think it's going to be larger than a breadbasket."

"Jack, your sense of humor could use some work," Lennie backed up, gun still drawn.

Something was coming through, roughly man size, and bipedal…

Then, it was through…

And it _was_ a man, around five foot ten, with lank dark hair, and a burly build, with these… _huge_ hands…

But there was something snaking out of that man's back, as if he were some sort of puppet on a string…

Jack McCoy flinched at the sight, backing up a pace or two, and that sent alarm pulsing through Briscoe.

"Jack?"

He backed up again, and Lennie could see he was shaking.

"Shoot the thing!" Lennie yelled.

McCoy just stood there, the blaster lowering.

One of those monstrous hands lashed out, arm stretching impossibly long, the huge hand smacking McCoy aside like swatting a fly, sending the man careening into a wall. The Detective hit the wall hard, and Briscoe heard the sound of the breath being smacked out of his lungs, and a horrid, _cracking_ sound.

McCoy collapsed into a crumpled heap on the floor, the blaster landing just a few feet away.

Briscoe stared at the sight. He couldn't even tell if McCoy was alive or not.

So who was going to deal with the Incursion?

_Guess it's me…_

Lennie dropped his gun, and dove for the blaster.

He came up firing, bolts of energy striking that manlike thing square in the head, and chest, and… _something_ …yanked the thing back into The Other Side.

Minutes later, the Incursion was over, the tear in reality gone, the sun shining like normal, into the wide windows, letting all the natural light in.

Grabbing his communicator, Briscoe knelt by his unconscious partner; checking for a pulse.

_You'd better not be dead…_

"We have a situation!" he spoke into his communicator. "Shadow-stalker is down. I repeat, Jack McCoy is down."

_What's his condition?_ The tinny voice on the other end responded.

"He's…breathing, but unconscious; bleeding from the nose. There are other casualties too. Two adults, one child."

_Do not touch anyone,_ the voice on the other end commanded.

"What about Jack?" Lennie demanded. "He's my partner, dammit!"

_And, if you get his blood on an open wound, you could get infected…_

"I don't have any open wounds!" Lennie snarled. Then he clicked off his communicator.

"Fuck them…" he decided. He took off his overcoat, and draped it over his unconscious partner. He wasn't a doctor; all he could do was keep McCoy warm until the specialists arrived.

The Disposal Unit arrived minutes later; along with a Med Specialist.

The Specialist hunkered down next to Lennie Briscoe as the Disposal Unit-four men in Isolation Suits-set to work wrapping up the dead bodies.

Lennie watched as the specialist put gloves on, then lifted an eyelid, checking pupil dilation, checking McCoy's pulse and breathing.

"He's concussed," the man said. "We'll have to take him to our Manhattan Way Station."

Lennie had heard of those.

Way Stations were Federally Mandated Bases from where the experts conducted their research against Incursions, and where victims of attacks were… _evaluated_ …where it was decided whether euthanasia was required or not.

"You are _not_ going to put him down like a dog!" Lennie glared at the man.

"He needs medical treatment," the other man said. "And we know his medical needs far more intimately than Bellevue does."

"Then, I'm coming with you."

Oddly enough, the other man actually smiled at that.

"Finally…" he sighed. "Jack's found a partner he can trust…"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Briscoe demanded.

"All the Chicago PD were frightened of him," the other man explained. "Nobody wanted anything to do with him."

"Well, he frightens me too, to a certain extent," Lennie admitted. "But he's my partner, and where I came up, that's supposed to _mean_ something. We stand by our partners, be they however strange."

"That's good to hear…"

The gurney was brought up, and Jack McCoy, still wrapped up in Briscoe's overcoat, was gently laid down upon it. He didn't even stir.

"That's not good, is it?" Briscoe watched as an oxygen mask was placed over the other man's nose and mouth. "He was slammed into that wall pretty hard."

"We'll find out when we get to Base," the gurney was loaded into a specially marked ambulance, bearing a logo Briscoe had never seen before.

_FIFEMTS_

_Federal Incursion Force Emergency Transport Service_

"All these abbreviations are driving me crazy…" Lennie sighed

"You have his blaster?"

"Yeah…" the detective raised a hand. "Right here. Speaking of which, I'd better collect my gun too. I dropped it when McCoy went down."

After getting his gun, Briscoe got into the van, sitting by McCoy's side, so he would see a familiar face when he woke up.

_If_ he woke up.

* * *

Throbbing pain…in his head…in his right shoulder…

Jack McCoy didn't want to open his eyes…

The pain was too much.

But there was worse to face if he opened his eyes, something that utterly terrified him.

He'd seen…

_No! Not him! I didn't see him!_

He wanted to curl up into a tight ball.

The pain lanced right through him, almost stopping his breath.

"Easy pal…"

"Lennie?" McCoy's voice came out a dusty croak.

"Yeah…It's me Jack," McCoy felt Briscoe's hand on his left shoulder.

"You got dinged up pretty bad, Jack," the Senior Detective said. "Concussion, and fractured right shoulder. So take it easy. Okay?"

Take it easy?

_If only I could…_

"My old man…" he whispered.

"Your old man?"

McCoy wanted to tell Briscoe. He really did. But the thought of it was just too hard to hold on to; even for someone like Jack McCoy.

He could also feel the drugs in his blood; beginning to dull the pain, beginning to drag him back down again…

So, he couldn't tell Briscoe what he had seen.

_My old man…_

_They turned him into a monster…_


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One month later...

_He's nine years old, gonna be ten in a couple of weeks. Sitting on the floor in the Living Room, running a toy cop car over the floor._

_He wants to be a cop when he grows up. But Dad has other ideas…_

_He wants Jack to go to college, and then Law School._

_But Jack doesn't want to be a Lawyer, or a Judge._

_He wants to be a cop, to wear the blues, to walk a beat, to catch the Bad Guys._

_He can hear Mom and Dad, in the other room, arguing. But it's not going to be bad this time. Mom's not hiding in the basement._

_So, he turns back to his toy cop car, running it over the floor…_

_Then, the light goes black…_

Jack McCoy jerked awake, sitting bolt upright, pure terror tingling along arms and legs. Then, the breath went out of him; a deep sigh of relief.

_Not Chicago…Not Nineteen fifty…_

It was Manhattan, Nineteen-Ninety-Four…

Slowly, McCoy sat up, rubbing his shoulder, the ticking of all the tiny clocks in the tiny bedroom anchoring him. He looked at the alarm clock on the bedside table.

_5:45 AM_

His shoulder still ached occasionally after the incident of almost a month ago.

McCoy rolled out of bed, wandered into the bathroom to start his morning routine.

* * *

_7 AM_

Detective Lennie Briscoe arrived at Jack McCoy's place. Briscoe was still a bit worried about him.

McCoy had been injured a month ago. The doctors-the specialists who knew Jack McCoy-said he was completely recovered. But Lennie wasn't all that sure.

He remembered how Jack had frozen when that…manlike _thing_ …had come through.

"You fine?" he asked as McCoy let him in.

"Yeah," McCoy was fixing his necktie as he spoke. "I'll be ready in a minute."

"Yeah…" Briscoe looked at the other man's feet, bare of socks or shoes. A brief grin flitted across McCoy face, then he walked back into the bedroom.

Briscoe waited in the small Living Room, saw the photos on the bookshelf.

A man and woman with three kids…

The oldest boy was Jack McCoy, and he had clearly inherited his looks from his Mother's side of the family. There was nothing of his father in him.

The man…

Lennie Briscoe felt his breath freeze in his lungs.

_The man…_

Very nearly as broad as he was tall, with these…huge hands…

The man was…familiar... 

Lennie had seen him before, seen those _Popeye-huge_ hands before…

Just a month ago. During the Incursion that had almost killed Jack McCoy…

"I'm ready," Jack McCoy's voice brought Lennie Briscoe back to now. "What case do we have now?"

"Ben wants us to investigate Rita Burrows," Lennie tore his gaze from the family photo. "She may have been involved with Arthur James."

Arthur James, a prominent divorce attorney, had been found dead-of multiple stab wounds-in the bedroom of his apartment.

McCoy nodded.

"She may have motive, or knowledge…"

"Yeah…" Briscoe nodded. "Stop for a coffee along the way?"

"Sure," McCoy pulled that shabby green jacket on, began to turn off unnecessary lights, leaving the small light by the door on.

Lennie followed him out, casting one glance back at the family photo on the bookshelf.

That was quite a revelation, a worrisome one…

Briscoe felt torn. This felt important. But, it wasn't exactly something he could confront McCoy over.

_Hey, Jack…Was that your father who almost killed you on the last incursion?_

Yeah…that would go over well…

Besides, he wasn't certain anyway.

The Incursion had happened a month ago, and Lennie wasn't really sure of the accuracy of his memory…

_What if I'm wrong?_


	9. Chapter 9

Detectives Lennie Briscoe and Jack McCoy, at 1 Hogan Place, reporting to Executive Assistant DA Ben Stone.

Paul Robinette had left the DA's office-citing personal reasons. His replacement was young, pretty, and formidably intelligent, and Jack McCoy, who had an aversion to stupidity, was instantly attracted to Claire Kincaid.

_Not that it matters…_

McCoy was fairly sure she had read the report on him, and was, no doubt, every bit as repulsed by what she had read about him as all the other women he had ever met had been.

The fact that he had been infected, by the bite of something from Beyond, wasn't exactly secret. Most Law Enforcement agencies knew what he was.

_Hard to strike up a relationship with someone if you're not as human as they are…_

"You still with us, Detective McCoy?" EADA Stone sounded amused, as if he knew exactly what had sent McCoy's mind wandering.

"Yeah…I'm here," McCoy looked down, unwilling to let anyone see he was actually capable of blushing.

"Okay," Stone was all business now. "When you saw the gun, Jack…Was it in plain sight? Or did you have to poke around a little to find it?"

"Uh…" McCoy scratched the side of his head, trying to remember. "Think it was in her purse, but the bag was open."

"So a little from column A, and a little from column B?"

"Yeah…" McCoy nodded reluctantly, knowing the search, and the findings thereof, were probably botched.

There hadn't been a Search Warrant, and the gun had been in Helen Barstow's purse. Detective Lennie Briscoe had managed to sweet-talk her into letting them into her apartment.

_Just for a minute_ , he'd said.

Upon letting them in, she had dropped her purse to the floor, and the gun, a sweet little .22 had kind of slid out.

McCoy was pretty sure it was the murder weapon; as was Briscoe, Kincaid, and Stone. But…

_We didn't have a Search Warrant…_

"Maybe one of you could lean on her just a little?" Stone spoke diffidently. "We know she killed the man. We just don't know why."

McCoy shrugged.

"I could research her life history," he offered. "She's been teaching at NYU for twelve years."

"No," Detective McCoy," Stone sighed. "My Second Chair can do that."

"True," Lennie Briscoe spoke up. "Sorry we botched your case, though."

"We'll muddle through," Stone waved them out of his office irritably, and Jack McCoy followed Lennie Briscoe outside.

* * *

"We really messed it up this time," Jack McCoy spoke thoughtfully. "Didn't we?"

Lennie Briscoe snorted.

"Don't worry about Ben Stone," he said. "He knows how to make a silk purse out of a sow's ear."

"If you say so…" McCoy shook his head. "If it were _me_ , I'd be pissed…"

"Yeah…and he's pissed too. But he'll do what he needs to make it work…."

Here, out on the sidewalk in front of Hogan Place, he turned to McCoy; a look in his eyes that the other man couldn't quite identify.

"I saw the family photo on your bookshelf," he said quietly.

McCoy felt a brief tang of panic.

"So?" he fought to keep his voice even, calm.

"Jack…" Lennie faced him squarely. "The guy that almost killed you, fractured your shoulder…that was _him_ , wasn't it? I mean, the reports said he wasn't killed in that Incursion back in Nineteen Fifty. He was _taken_ , right?"

"I don't know what you're talking about…"

McCoy turned and began to walk to the car.

But he knew his reaction had pretty much given everything away.

Shaking like a leaf…

"Jack…" Lennie's hand on his shoulder, gently turning him around.

"I know this must be hard for you," there was genuine compassion in Lennie's eyes and voice. "But we do need to report this, to your bosses."

McCoy flinched. Technically, Lieutenant Anita Van Buren wasn't his boss. He was officially on loan from the Federal Bureau of Interdimensional Affairs.

He didn't want to do it; tell them his own Father had been changed into a monster.

"Jack," Lennie's hand on his shoulder. "We need to go to the Manhattan Way Station. They need to know. I'll be with you."

That…meant something…

Jack McCoy had never had a partner who supported him that completely.

All the others had made it clear they were afraid of him, and would sooner see the back of him.

Lennie Briscoe, though…

He meant every word that he had said.

"Okay…" McCoy finally sighed. "We'll stop there, and let them know."

"Good," Lennie nodded as they stopped at the unmarked car. "Get in. I'll drive."


	10. Chapter 10

"You saw… _what?_ " FBIA Agent David Keller sat there, clearly in shock. Not that Detective Lennie Briscoe blamed him any.

Before going to the Manhattan FBIA Way Station, Briscoe had Jack McCoy stop at his apartment and retrieve the family photo. Now, it lay on the FBIA agent's desk, face up, five faces-two adults, three children, smiling up at the three men…

Detective Jack McCoy had been one of the three children in that photo, and the only known survivor of an Incursion that had occurred in the McCoy Household, back in Nineteen Fifty.

But, his Father, John James Senior, hadn't been killed. He had been _taken_ , his body dragged back through the gap in Reality, brought to the Other Side…

Briscoe shuddered. The world over there had to be every bit as incomprehensible as the occupants who tried to slip through to This Side.

"Why didn't you tell us, Jack?" Keller demanded.

McCoy flinched, shoulders hunched.

"I didn't…I…" he stammered

"Easy, Jack…" Briscoe laid a hand on McCoy's shoulder.

"The man was Jack's _father_ ," he turned back to Keller. "I don't know what I would have done if it had been me."

"But, this changes... _everything!_ " Keller stood, began to pace. "We thought that the Incursions were due to the Atomic energy released at the end of World War II. But, now, the experts say atomics simply couldn't have that unraveling effect on Reality Gates."

"Reality Gates?"

"The gates separating one universe from another," Jack McCoy said. "People used to believe that the Hiroshima and Nagasaki Bombings frayed the edges of the Quantum Flux."

"But we now know that is no longer the case," Keller added. "Indeed, we have suspicions that the whole fraying process was deliberate, and being carried out by the Other Side. So, Jack, when you saw…your father…what did you see?"

"Not much…" McCoy looked down at the floor. "I just…"

He fell silent, shook his head.

"Sorry," he apologized.

"I think I saw more," Lennie sat up straight, as he wracked his brain…

_A man with lank brown hair, muscular, powerful build, dark brown eyes, and powerful arms ending in huge hands…_

"Something was coming out of his back," Briscoe recalled. "It snaked back out into that Other Place. It's like he was…just an appendage, or a tool. Sorry, Jack, but I don't think he was alive…at least not in a way we would call alive."

Briscoe frowned, a sudden thought filling his mind.

"Jack," he asked. "How many Incursions have you been involved in?"

"Lots, Lennie," McCoy frowned, heavy black brows furrowing. "I've been in the FBIA, as a Shadow Stalker, since Nineteen Sixty-six."

"Almost thirty years then…" Lennie nodded, a horrible suspicion taking shape in his mind. He looked back at Keller.

"You guys say it's the Others who may be responsible for the Incursions starting in the first place?"

"Yes," Keller nodded reluctantly. "It turns out that our nuclear capability simply isn't enough to cause any tears in Quantum Space."

"So…it's an Invasion, plain and simple," Lennie Briscoe looked over to Jack McCoy. "And Jack here, and the few others like him, are our only hope to combat this invasion."

"Yeah…" Keller nodded again. Then, his eyes widened in comprehension.

"They tried to take Jack McCoy out by using his own father as a weapon against him? Dear God…"

"Whoever is responsible for this-and there _is_ a who-is capable of strategic planning," Lennie said. "This isn't a mindless thing. Somewhere…Over There…there's Someone making plans, and deciding who gets sent where, and this… _Someone_ … whatever, or whoever it is, seems to have recognized recognized Jack McCoy was a threat to it's plans, knew where he was located, and acted to remove him as a threat to its plans; by sending the one person most likely to be able to inflict harm on Jack McCoy; his own father, and _that_ seems to imply a working understanding of human psychology."

He looked over to Jack McCoy, then back to Keller again.

"I think the stakes just went up," he said.

* * *

Detective Jack McCoy had never felt so helpless in his life. Now They-whoever…whatever…they were-were gunning for him; and on top of that…

_Another Migraine…_

Fear filled him. The medical experts told him the mutations were ongoing. The changes were still going on inside his body, his nervous system, and his brain…

That was, in fact, the reason for the migraines. Whatever infection had entered his blood back in Nineteen Fifty, it was still at work inside him, altering his brain in ways no one could possibly predict.

_Alien DNA changing me…_

McCoy closed his eyes and tuned Keller and Briscoe out. His head was already throbbing, and the Sumatriptan was in his desk back at the 27th.

"Jack?" Lennie's hand on his shoulder. "Migraine?"

"Yeah…" McCoy whispered. "Bad one…"

"He can spend the night here," Keller stood. "We have a Special Room set aside just for Jack."

"Fine," Lennie stood. "Let's get you there, Jack."

Five minutes later, they were there. The…Special Room looked like any other single-bed hospital room. But no windows, and there was the sound of ticking clocks, and under that, a barely audible thrum.

Jack sighed in relief, and let the sound fill his brain. He barely felt Lennie help him out of suit jacket and tie. He lay down, felt the blankets drawn over him. Then, he fell into the ticking thrum, into the welcoming darkness.

* * *

FBIA Agent David Keller, watching as Detective Lennie Briscoe tucked his partner into the hospital bed, felt nothing but relief.

_Finally…_

_A partner who truly cares about him…_

Jack McCoy was a truly good man. But the mutations, caused by infection with DNA from the Other Side, made him not entirely human.

_Ironic…in that Jack's soul is the most truly human soul I've ever met…_

But most people who knew what Jack McCoy was-technically a Human/Alien Hybrid-reacted to him with fear, and sometimes even loathing.

Of course, McCoy's manner didn't help. Off-putting to a certain degree, with his formidable intellect, and…sheer Irish stubbornness, he often went out of his way to make himself difficult to like.

But, those who took the time to know him found him loyal-to a fault, sometimes-and capable of deep love.

_Maybe Manhattan will learn to love him back…_


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's been a change...

_One week later_

That last attack of migraine had been the worst attack Jack McCoy had ever experienced before; and that was saying something. He'd been living with this since he was nine years old.

_This_ migraine attack lasted three whole days, forcing McCoy to call in sick; and he had never done that before. He'd never had to.

But this one wouldn't leave. Three whole days of lying huddled under warm blankets, whimpering in agony, three whole days where his skull felt like it might implode.

Then, on the third day, early afternoon, the pain just…went away.

Like flipping a switch, it was gone, like it had never been…

Dr. Omar Barrat, Chief Medical Officer at Manhattan Way Station had been alarmed at the migraine's duration.

So, after the migraine had receded, he ordered Jack McCoy to take a truly daunting series of cranial scans; x-ray, CAT scans, and PET Scans, along with a series of neurological exams, and a psychological examination carried out by none other than Dr. Emil Skoda.

Fact was, McCoy felt… _different_ …somehow, after that three-day migraine attack, and he couldn't rightly explain why, or how.

That was what all those tests were for; to see what had changed.

All of that took another two days, much to McCoy's chagrin. But, the specialists couldn't find anything actionable, or dangerous; so he wasn't facing euthanasia.

_Yet…_

That was always a possibility for someone like him.

At least he was cleared to return to work.

"Welcome back, Jack," Lennie was glad to see him.

"Thanks," McCoy smiled sheepishly. He wasn't used to people actually being glad to see him.

"How's the head?" Briscoe asked.

"Good, for now," McCoy sat at his desk. "What's new?"

"The Shepherd Case…"

McCoy listened as Briscoe filled him in. Michael Shepherd had killed his wife, strangled her. It was a pretty open and shut case; and the DA's Office had just issued a warrant for Shepherd's arrest.

"So we go and get him?"

"Exactly," Briscoe stood.

* * *

_When it decides to hit the fan, it doesn't fool around,_ Detective Lennie Briscoe thought irritably.

Michael's Shepherd's arrest went south as soon as Shepherd saw the two detectives.

So, of course, he ran; and Detectives Briscoe and McCoy had to run too.

Outside, on a hot, muggy, weekday summer afternoon.

_Fun..._

Jack McCoy was faster than Briscoe, so he caught up first. But even Jack McCoy couldn't have predicted what Michael Shepherd did next.

Michael Shepherd, young, and built like a stevedore, spun around, grabbed McCoy, and…hurled him away as if he weighed nothing at all.

Right into the nearest brick wall.

After somehow managing to disarm him and grab both weapons; the standard issue .45, _and_ the Blaster.

_Oh…boy…_

Briscoe halted, trying to assess the situation. McCoy had slid to the ground, clearly stunned; and Shepherd was standing a few feet away, waving McCoy's blaster around.

"Take it easy, pal!" Briscoe had his own gun out. "Don't make things worse than they already are."

"What the fuck is this?" Shepherd waved the blaster. "You guys hunting Darth Vader or something?"

That was when something…odd…happened.

Shepherd grunted and doubled over, as if something hit him in the solar plexus, the blaster flying out of his hand, then both the blaster and the .45 flew back to Jack McCoy.

_What..?_

Lennie shook himself.

That was for another day.

Shepherd was down on the ground, trying to breathe.

Briscoe ran up and quickly cuffed Shepherd's wrists behind his back; taking the time and care to Mirandize him properly.

Other officers arrived to take Shepherd back to the 27th; which left Lennie free to look to his partner.

"You okay, Jack?"

McCoy was still sitting there, breathing hard, looking a little frightened.

"Yeah…" he finally said, stashing his guns, the .45 and the blaster back where they belonged.

"He slammed you pretty hard, Jack," Lennie knelt by McCoy's side, and held up two fingers.

"How many do you see?"

"Two!" McCoy snapped as he grabbed Briscoe's hand and forced it back down.

Frightened eyes looked up at Briscoe.

"What's wrong, Jack?"

"Did you see anything…odd…Lennie?"

"Odd? Like what kind of odd?" Briscoe looked up at the sunny sky, trying to look for the odd rippling that always seemed to presage an Incursion. "Are we having an Incursion?"

"No…" McCoy shook his head, trembling slightly. "I think I'd prefer that over this…"

_"This?"_

McCoy drew a shaky breath.

"I was down…" he said at last. "And I couldn't get up."

"You were _stunned_ , Jack," Lennie spoke patiently. "Getting slammed into a wall will do that to you."

"Yeah…" McCoy nodded. "But I felt…something happen…in me…"

He brought a hand up to his head.

"In my head," he continued. "It felt like…I don't know…but Shepherd…he went down. Like a sack of bricks."

"I saw," Lennie felt a tingling sense of unease that slowly crawled up his spine. But, somehow, he wasn't surprised at what Jack McCoy said next.

"I think it was me," McCoy said. "I think I did it…mentally. Like telekinesis, or whatever they call it nowadays."

"Jack…"

"No…Lennie…Please listen. All my life I've lived under the threat of extermination. I'm…dangerous. I can't donate blood, because my blood is tainted. I had a vasectomy because…well…any kids of mine would be monsters…"

The words came out in a breathless rush.

"I just attacked a man without lifting a finger, Lennie. What do you think the FBIA will think of that?"

_He's afraid…_

_Gee, living under the axe like he has all these years? I'd be afraid too._

"I won't let them, Jack, You are my partner. Besides, the only person you were dangerous to here was the piece of shit who decided to resist arrest. You're fine, Jack. And, if _they_ think otherwise, I'll just have to give'em a piece of my mind on the subject."

McCoy just sat there, eyes wide; and that, more than anything else he had seen broke Briscoe's heart.

"You're my friend, Jack," he spoke softly. "And a damn good cop. So, let's get you on your feet."

_They'd better not even think of euthanizing Jack over this…_

Lennie sighed as he helped McCoy back to his feet.

Euthanasia…

_God…I hate that word…_


	12. Chapter 12

The Michael Shepherd case was going to trial now; and Executive Assistant DA Ben Stone was going over trial testimony details with Detective Lennie Briscoe…

"So, how was Michael Shepherd brought down?"

"Uh…"

Briscoe frowned. Jack McCoy hadn't even touched Shepherd. Anyone witnessing the… _take-down_ …would have seen a man, armed with a.45, and a blaster, suddenly double over, as if experiencing severe stomach cramps, and collapse, losing both stolen weapons…

Briscoe knew better, but only because Jack McCoy had told him what he had done.

Right now, Jack McCoy was undergoing yet _another_ series of neurological examinations-this time with a team of FBIA medical specialists from all over the world…

Lennie freely admitted he was worried sick about Jack McCoy.

_Telekinesis…_

Apparently, that was a genuine first in the FBIA records.

_Hope they don't kill him out of hand over this…_

_Excuse me…_

_Euthanize…_

As if the choice of words made it more acceptable…

And Briscoe still had to tell Ben Stone what happened, and _how_ …

"Uh…"

Problem was that Lennie didn't have any idea how, or where, to start.

"Ever hear about mind over matter?" he spoke cautiously.

"Sure," Stone replied casually. "It's a staple of Science Fiction and Fantasy Literature."

"Not this time, Counselor." Briscoe sighed. "It was Jack McCoy who took him down; and he did it without even moving. I was there, and I saw it. I saw the two guns, the .45 and the blaster, float back to Jack. Does this change anything?"

Stone stared back at Briscoe, obviously not convinced.

"If true, Detective McCoy may come in for some hard grilling by Defense," the man said at last. "But, considering the circumstances, I don't think there'll be more than that. Shepherd was clearly resisting arrest at the time. Where is Detective McCoy, by the way? I would have liked to talk to him too."

"He's with his bosses, at the Manhattan Way Station," Lennie spoke glumly. "Probably in danger of being…euthanized."

"Probably not," Stone laid a hand on Briscoe's shoulder. "I've read the report on him, and it occurs to me he's too valuable an asset to be killed lightly; even if what you told me is true, which I very much doubt."

* * *

The tests were more stringent that anything Jack McCoy could recall; except for the immediate aftermath of the Incursion that had claimed his family back in Nineteen Fifty.

Now, of course, the medical science was far more advanced.

In the last day, Jack McCoy had been scanned, probed, analyzed, and, in general, put through every examination that medical science and know how could come up with.

Much to his shock, he came up clean.

Well… As clean as a human/alien hybrid could claim to be.

They wanted to keep him in the Way Station's infirmary for a few more days, until the parapsychologists had had their way with him…

Still, it wasn't all bad. EADA Ben Stone had sent his Second Chair, Claire Kincaid, to talk to him, get his own testimony on the Shepherd Case.

On the one hand, McCoy was glad to see her.

But not _here_ , not confined to a hospital room with the single hospital bed, and certainly not wearing this hospital gown.

Damned thing was too small; it covered too little.

Thank god for the terry-cloth bathrobe. That on over the hospital gown, McCoy didn't feel quite so naked, so…exposed.

"Thank you for coming over," he felt oddly shy as he sat on the bed, leaving Miss Kincaid to take the single chair. "They won't let me out just yet."

"They want to make sure you're all right," Claire Kincaid replied. "You did get slammed into a brick wall."

"Yeah…" McCoy nodded nervously. "So…what do you need to know?"

"What happened," Kincaid spoke crisply. "In your own words."

"My own words…" McCoy swallowed. "Uh…We got the warrant from the DA's Office, then went out to get Shepherd. He saw us, and ran. We gave chase, I caught up to him, and…"

McCoy hesitated.

"After this, I'm not too clear on what happened," he confessed.

"Getting slammed into a brick wall will do that to you," Kincaid commiserated.

McCoy chuckled.

"That's exactly what Lennie said."

"Lennie also said you brought Shepherd down without touching him."

"Yeah…"

_That's why I'm here…_

"What's wrong, Detective McCoy?" there was concern, real concern in her eyes.

McCoy didn't know what to tell her. Not the truth, certainly.

_That my bosses might have me killed because I went a mutation too far…_

"I'm still a little sore from the brick wall," he lied.

"Hope you feel better soon," Claire smiled. "I'm going to go now, and let you get some rest. May I see you tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow?" McCoy felt jarred.

_Of all the times where a wish of mine could have come true, did it have to be now? With my life in the balance?_

He looked up at her, eyes wide.

"You…want to see me?"

"Of course I do."

She left a few minutes later, with a promise that she would see him tomorrow, and Jack McCoy was left reeling.

_She knows what I am…doesn't she?_


	13. Chapter 13

_Manhattan Way Station_

Jack McCoy watched Lennie Briscoe as he handled the new blaster he had just been given.

"Really?" Briscoe looked up at McCoy and FBIA Agent Keller, smiling bemusedly.

"Yes, really," Keller smiled back. "It's time you were properly equipped to deal with Incursions."

There was more to it than that, McCoy knew. The FBIA had been testing Briscoe.

_We need to know how far Briscoe's loyalty goes,_ the FBIA Agents had said.

McCoy hadn't really been under threat of Euthanasia after all. It had all been a ploy to see how Detective Briscoe would react...

_You should be happy, Jack,_ Keller had said. _Lennie Briscoe passed with flying colors._

McCoy _was,_ of course; as well as completely stunned.

All of his other partners, the ones who called him _the Loon,_ couldn't have cared less whether he lived or died. _This,_ a partner who cared about him, was a genuine first for Jack McCoy

_Of course they had to prove Lennie was trustworthy by scaring the crap out of me…_

McCoy was of two minds about that; glad that he could trust his partner, pissed off at his bosses for lying, for saying they might have to kill him.

_But that means I'm not under the gun at all...doesn't it?_

_That's good news, I guess..._

Detective Briscoe holstered his new blaster in an inconspicuous place; turned to McCoy.

"What now?" Briscoe asked; and, as if in answer to Briscoe's question, McCoy's communicator buzzed.

_Incursion in progress at 65th 143rd Street, outside, on street._

"Roger," McCoy spoke into his Communicator, sending an ironic look in Briscoe's direction. "We're on our way."

* * *

Traffic was hopelessly snarled for entire city blocks in all directions. Lennie Briscoe had to park his unmarked cruiser 8 blocks away.

They were going to have to be on foot the rest of the way. Lennie Briscoe got out of the car and followed Jack McCoy as he ran toward the Incursion, which, at this distance, looked remarkably like a highly localized, and _severe_ , thunderstorm.

Both men ran, badges in one hand, blasters in the other, dodging panicked civilians, cops-trying to keep order without much success-and rubberneckers who should have known better.

Once they got there, though…

"Damn…" Briscoe heard McCoy curse.

Tentacles roved all over the place, dragging victims into that monstrous hole in reality. For several victims, it was already too late…

For others, though, there was still a chance...

"The tentacles, Lennie!" McCoy ordered.

Briscoe nodded, aimed his new blaster, and white hot bolts of light soon scored alien flesh.

Only three of the tentacles dropped their victims, though. The other six receded back into beyond, taking their victims with them.

"Shit!" Lennie growled as he watched.

"Hold, Lennie! Something's coming through."

Yep…

Something was definitely coming through. The size of a man, with something like a tentacle snaking out of its back, and Briscoe thought he recognized the muscular figure…

_Him again?_

Jack McCoy's flinching reaction confirmed it.

"Your old man?" Lennie called.

"Yeah…" McCoy looked shaken.

"Okay, Jack," Briscoe had an idea. "He's probably gonna concentrate on you. I'll see if I can come in from behind. Maybe even cut him loose."

"Cut him loose?" McCoy's eyes were wide. Looking at Briscoe, he didn't see…the man…move.

Briscoe did.

"Duck, Jack!" he yelled, and the other man threw himself down, just barely in time…

The man's right arm lashed out, stretching beyond the normal limits of human flesh, huge hand passing over McCoy's head, swiping the fedora right off.

Lennie moved quickly to the right, looking at the tentacle speared through the man's back.

_It's connected right at the spine…_

Lennie fired his blaster, aiming at where the tentacle connected to the man's back.

Bolts of blinding light struck, and…

The tentacle writhed and twisted away, back into the tear in Reality, leaving a humanoid body behind…

It fell to its knees, remained there, swaying, for a moment. Then, it fell forward; face down on the hard concrete.

Tentacles came streaming out again. But now, McCoy had recovered his composure. He fired his blaster directly into the tear in space; joined by Briscoe.

Everyone heard the sound, a bellowing roar; a discordant shriek that set Briscoe's nerves jangling. 

_Nothing living should be able to make a sound like that..._

Then, the new tentacles retracted, and the tear in space closed, and everything was normal again; the sky back to its normal blue, and the sun a comforting yellow. 

_But there's a body here...a body of a man who's been held there, in that **other place** for over fifty years..._

McCoy walked up to the body.

"Jack!" Lennie called. "Be careful!"

Maybe it was dead...maybe it wasn't. Either way, it was dangerous.

Even so, Briscoe knew _this_ was something Jack McCoy had to do.

_Might be his father, after all…_

He brought out his communicator.

"Briscoe here," he announced. "Incursion is ended. McCoy is…investigating a body they left behind; Male, strongly built, with large hands. Three civilians have been hurt, others have been drawn inside…"

"Disposal Unit is on the way," the voice on the other end replied. "Tell McCoy to wait until they arrive."

"Will do…" Briscoe put the communicator away, walked up to where McCoy knelt by the man's body.

"Wait, Jack," he said. "They're sending the Disposal Unit. They want you to wait until they arrive, and I think they're right."

McCoy's eyes flashed dangerously. Then, his eyes closed and he sighed softly as he stood again.

"It's my old man…" he spoke softly.

"I know, Jack." Briscoe laid a hand on McCoy's shoulder.

Disposal arrived a few minutes later, along with FBIA Agent David Keller. The Disposal Squad moved to secure the bodies, except for the man.

Keller joined McCoy and Briscoe as they stood over the body.

McCoy sent a questioning look at Keller. At Keller's nod, he knelt again, and turned the body over.

They all stared at the man's face, at the eyes.

The eyes were white, no iris or pupil; just pure solid white...

In spite of that, it was unmistakably the man in Jack McCoy's family photo.

_John James McCoy Senior..._

"Don't touch him, Jack" Keller warned. "Let me take care of this."

McCoy nodded, moved to stand, but a hand shot out, grabbed his wrist.

The older man…

_Shit! Alive! Not dead!_

Lennie's blaster was out again, as was Keller's.

As for Jack McCoy…

McCoy was frozen. Pure terror in his eyes, he stared down at the large hand that gripped his wrist so tightly.

McCoy Senior's mouth worked.

_He's trying to speak…_

It came out garbled from that toothless mouth. But Lennie found he could understand at least a little.

_Free…I'm free…_

The head turned, and those whited-out eyes focused on Jack McCoy.

Was it possible he knew who Jack McCoy was? 

That mouth worked again...

"Thank you…" the hoarse voice slurred.

Then, the hand loosened its grip on McCoy's wrist, the arm falling limp to the body's side, the mouth going slack.

Dead…

McCoy was shaking, trembling uncontrollably.

Keller looked down at the sight, the son mourning the father, who was finally dead after over fifty years in that hell.

Briscoe stood there too, not sure what to do now.

"Lennie," Keller's voice brought him back. "Get Jack out of here. Take him…home…to the 27th…I don't care where. Just not _here._ "

"Right…"

Briscoe sighed, stepped up, hand on McCoy's shoulder.

"Let's go, Jack," he said. "Let the specialists do their job."

"My old man…"

"They've got to do what they've got to do," Briscoe felt like shit for saying this. "Jack, he's _free_ now. They can't hurt him anymore."

McCoy stood slowly, eyes never leaving the dead body.

Briscoe guided him slowly, back to where they had left the car, got him in the passenger seat, and went around to the driver's side. Getting into the driver's side, he looked at his partner.

Jack McCoy sat there, head bowed, body shaking in silent grief…


	14. Chapter 14

_He floats overhead, hovering over dead, gray soil. Fungus covers the soil, doing its best to bring life back to this deserted hell hole._

_He looks around, turning around in a circle, seeking for signs of life, apart from the fungus._

_There is nothing. Even the sky overhead looks dead…_

_He can feel something up ahead. Whatever it is, it's…_ _**hungry** _ _…filled with an endless hunger that can never be satiated._

_He flies forward, fear tingling its way up his spine._

_Then, he sees…_

**_It…_ **

_The Breaker of the World._

_It has eaten this world, ingested every living thing, both animal and vegetable. It has destroyed this world. Now it casts hungry eyes upon another world; a world full of Life…_

Jack McCoy jolted awake in the comfort of his small apartment, the ticking clocks balm for his brain.

That dream…

He'd had dreams like that his whole life. The specialists had assured him the dreams were his brain's way of processing the trauma inflicted upon him when he had been a kid.

McCoy had mostly accepted the psychologists' explanation.

Until now.

Lately, these dreams had acquired a crystalline clarity that made them feel every bit as… _real_ …as the reality he experienced while wide awake.

…..

"What if these dreams of mine _are_ real?"

Dr. Emil Skoda frowned at Jack McCoy's question.

Jack McCoy had been required to see Skoda on a weekly basis from the start; part of the deal with the _FBIA_.

A psychiatrist, Skoda also had extensive experience with those infected with what was now being called _Incursion Spectrum Syndrome_.

Skoda had seen such victims, watched as they… _morphed_ …as they became what could only be called… _monsters_.

There were also the unfortunate victims who-for lack of a better way to describe it-became crazed, cannibalistic zombies.

Then, there was Jack McCoy...

Hyper-sensitive to his environment, able to _see_ the minute fluctuations in Quantum Reality…

_And able to move matter with his mind…_

Further, the FBIA specialists took blood from McCoy on a monthly basis. Skoda had no idea what they were looking for; and the specialists weren't saying.

Anything.

Skoda got the distinct impression that what the specialists were doing with Jack McCoy's blood was a matter of terrestrial security.

As for Jack McCoy...

McCoy was like no other victim of Incursion Spectrum Syndrome Skoda had ever seen before.

McCoy's mental well-being was his sole worry; and those dreams he was having now…

"What do you see in those dreams, Jack?" he asked. "What do you do?"

"It's…" McCoy sighed. "It's like I'm a disinterested observer. I'm just…floating, flying over this…desolate landscape."

"What do you see, Jack?"

McCoy closed his eyes.

"Everything's…dead," he said after a moment. "No trees, birds, animals, or people. Just gray fungus, and that's…all. Even the sky looks dead."

McCoy looked down briefly. When he lifted his head again, there was fear in his eyes.

"Then, I move, fly ahead, until I see… _it_."

"It?"

"It's…I don't know what it is, Emil. It…It's alive. And it's hungry…always hungry."

…..

FBIA Agent Keller frowned as he listened to Dr. Emil Skoda's weekly assessment of Jack McCoy.

"These dreams of Jack's…Delusion or reality, Emil?"

He saw Skoda's frown.

"You probably have a better idea than I do, Agent Keller," the psychiatrist said. "Delusion is one thing, and I could treat that. But, if this is real…"

"Yeah…" Keller nodded. "I see your point."

Jack McCoy had already displayed telekinesis-Mind over Matter-so it wasn't all that much of a stretch to suppose other powers might be possible.

_If Jack's dreams are real, he might be in contact with whatever is out there…On the Other Side…_


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Revelations abound...

"You did… _what?"_

Detective Jack McCoy stood there, in FBIA Agent Keller's office, and, in other times, Lennie Briscoe might have told McCoy to close his mouth to avoid swallowing a fly. But, this time…

_This_ time, Briscoe was every bit as stunned as McCoy.

_We've been conducting experiments with your blood, Jack,_ Keller had just said. _We have created a vaccine from your blood. We may even have created a weapon…_

Jack McCoy, trembling, slid into a chair, face gone gray at the news.

"A… _weapon..?"_

"Up to now, all of our responses have been defensive," Keller spoke patiently. "Be there wherever, and whenever a portal opens, and try to keep them… _it_ …from establishing a beachhead; or from taking anyone. As you know we've only been partially successful. We've kept them from invading us, at least. But every Incursion ends up with civilians lost. We have to start taking the fight to the Other Side. We have to stop merely defending, and start _attacking._ "

"How?" Briscoe asked. "We don't even know what these… _things_ …are."

"We know now," Keller took a seat too. "Thanks to Jack's dreams, and-apologies, Jack-research done on McCoy Senior's body before we incinerated it."

Keller looked at Jack.

"You still have those dreams, Jack?"

"Yeah…" McCoy shuddered. "Every night."

"So…"Keller drew a breath. "Tell me about those fungi."

…..

McCoy closed his eyes as he summoned up memory of the dream. He'd had it last night too.

"Endless plains full of fungus. They're all about three feet tall, and their roots…"

He shuddered.

"Their roots?" Keller asked. "Where do they go?"

McCoy sighed. It would have been ridiculously funny, had it not been so insanely terrifying…

"The Mushroom King…"

"A mushroom… _king?"_ McCoy couldn't fault the disbelief he heard in Briscoe's voice.

"It's not like the mushrooms you cook, Lennie. This one spans the entire world. It's subsumed entire oceans and continents. It's not only become the Apex Predator on its world. It's the only lifeform on this world. All the fungus is part of it."

"But it's got tentacles!" Briscoe was clearly trying to wrap his mind around the concept of a world-spanning fungus, and not succeeding very well at it.

"And those tentacles have teeth and _very_ human-looking eyes!"

"I know, Lennie," McCoy looked up. "It subsumes everything it takes into itself. Flesh, DNA, tissue, brains…"

He sighed.

"It's the ultimate colony organism. But it's at an evolutionary dead end. It can't reproduce. It can't even bud."

"So…it's dying?" Briscoe asked.

"Yeah, Lennie. And it would have died. But it acquired the ability to open dimensional doorways into other universes, and found… _us_."

"O…kay," Briscoe looked at Keller. "So you guys want to take the war back to this…mushroom. How?"

"Jack McCoy, and his blood, may be our key to victory."

McCoy sat up straight at that.

"You said it's a vaccine?"

"Yep," Keller nodded. "There was an Incursion in Omaha last week, six people were bitten and contaminated. We injected them with your blood. We're going to keep them in Isolation for a year. But it looks like they were all cured."

McCoy was glad he was sitting when he heard that. It was so unexpected.

"My blood _cured_ them?"

"Looks that way, Jack," Keller was smiling. "And that frees us to make the next step; to take the war to the _Mushroom King_ , as you called it."

"But we still have to wait until this…thing…opens the Gates," Briscoe objected. "And that could literally happen anywhere."

"We're tracking Jack McCoy's neural development," Keller said.

McCoy went utterly still.

"What do you mean?" he whispered.

"Telekinesis isn't the end, Jack," Keller leaned forward, excitement in his eyes and voice. "Your brain and nervous system are still changing. Maybe you will learn how to open the Gates yourself, and help us make an Incursion of our very own. And we will be able to make our first strike. Into enemy territory."


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another Incursion...

 

 

 

 

 

 

_It's back to being a Detective of Police again. For a while, at least..._

But investigating the murder of Maisie Gardner had the virtue of taking Jack McCoy's mind off other worries…

He knew his brain was still changing, still adapting to the… _Mushroom Virus_ …as the experts were now calling it.

Now, Jack McCoy's life was scheduled down to the very last minute, what with being a detective, and a Shadow-stalker…

His days off were now being spent at the Manhattan Waystation, practicing his newfound telekinetic skills.

McCoy had learned a certain measure of control over this new skill, had even received permission from Lieutenant Van Buren to use said telekinesis to bring perps down, if the situation warranted it.

Everyone was hoping that this telekinesis would lead to bigger things.

_Like the ability to open the Reality Gates, so we can take the fight directly to the Mushroom King itself…_

McCoy shivered. There had been a few instances of so-called "Giant Mushrooms" located here too. But those-while frighteningly vast, one discovered in Canada had reached a proportion of several square miles-had seemingly arrived too late in Earth's geological history.

Homo sapiens had arrived first. Or whatever had brought the Mushroom King into being  _there_  had never happened here.

_For better or worse,_ _**we're** _ _the apex predators here…_

For now, all Jack McCoy could do was train at telekinesis, and hope… _pray_  that the experts were right, and he would soon be able to do more than bend spoons and levitate small objects like guns…

And pursue lawbreakers, such as Millicent Capra, who had apparently murdered her niece, fifteen-year-old Maisie Gardner…

…..

_1 Hogan Place_

Executive Assistant Ben Stone sat at his desk, Detectives Lennie Briscoe and Jack McCoy sitting across from him, going over their testimony in Ms. Capra's trial.

The evidence was pretty cut-and-dry.

The man who had actually done the shooting-Adam Stanton-had been romantically involved with Millie Capra, and Maisie Gardner had been an heiress. An estate worth hundreds of millions lay in the balance.

Stone was feeling rather satisfied right now. Danielle Melnick had called five minutes before, had said her client had expressed a wish to plead out to Man One; but he wasn't sure he wanted to go that low.

"Think you'll be able to get her on Murder One?" Briscoe asked.

"I believe so," Stone nodded. Then, he paused. Jack McCoy was looking upward, at the ceiling, eyes focused and intent. A little  _too_ intent…

"Detective McCoy?"

"Be calm, Counselor," McCoy spoke softly. "And do what we say. Lennie, incoming Incursion. Call it in."

_"_ _Here?"_ Briscoe stood, communicator in hand.

"Right in this room," McCoy stood too, blaster out and ready.

_Jesus…_

Stone stood too, alarm prickling along arms and legs. The last time there had been an Incursion here, no one in the office had died.

_But that had occurred outside, in front of the building…_

As per Incursion protocol, established by the FBIA some twenty years ago, all rooms in government buildings-like the District DA's Office-came equipped with Incursion Alarms. At McCoy's nod, Stone flipped the switch, and now the signal to evacuate the premises sounded through the building.

Stone followed the two detectives out into the hall.

_"_ _Another_ one?" Adam Schiff grumbled as he met the others.

"Apparently in my office," Stone spoke dryly as he closed his office door.

That was when the Event struck

And Stone's office door blew right off its hinges…

"Ben!"

Ben Stone didn't hear Adam's panicked voice over the ringing in his ears; and it took a few minutes to realize he'd been blind-sided by the door.

Tentacles boiled out of the gaping space where the office door had been just a second or two ago.

He was dimly aware of people lifting the broken office door off, and there was a dizzying moment of movement.

A young ADA name of Michael Cutter had draped Stone over his shoulders, was now hauling ass down the stairs, and there was the sci-fi sound of two blasters, Detectives Briscoe and McCoy keeping those tentacles at bay as the others made their escape.

Everyone else ran down the stairs too, because using elevators during an Incursion was a great way to commit suicide.

It was a very bouncy ride to the rear exit.

Out in the free air, Cutter laid Stone down, a mandatory one hundred yards away from the building. Understandably, Cutter was just a little breathless.

Claire Kincaid, and a young ADA working in Narcotics-Abbie Carmichael-joined them, and Adam Schiff.

"You okay, Ben?" Schiff knelt by Stone's side.

"I…think so…" Stone pulled himself to a sitting position.

He could hear the sounds of crashing as the tentacles inside thrashed about, and the whining sounds of the blasters; and it was hard to tell who was winning…

Then…

The windows at the rear of Hogan Place blew outward, glass exploding into millions of shards, brick walls crumbling, and more tentacles streamed out through those shattered windows.

Everyone scattered like frightened sheep. Except for Ben Stone, who couldn't get up and run. And Adam Schiff, who  _wouldn't_ get up and run.

Then, heart in his throat, Stone saw something possibly even more terrifying than grasping tentacles.

Jack McCoy running outside, looking up at the tentacles reaching for the two attorneys.

McCoy's eyes were alight…

They… _glowed_ …with a hot white light.

Ben Stone reacted instinctively, without conscious thought as he dragged Adam Schiff down; both men cowering, keeping their heads low. The tentacles overhead just…exploded; chunks of meaty flesh raining down over all the cement, rancid black blood spattering all over and  _something_  inside Hogan Place roared and shrieked, in agony and rage.

The smell, rancid blood and rotten flesh, was overpowering. Stone was trembling. So was Adam Schiff.

"Hey!" that sounded like Lennie Briscoe. "You guys okay?"

"Think so…" Schiff's voice rasped. "Ben was hurt when…it…blew the door in."

"Any open wounds on you two?"

Apparently not. Although both men had been spattered with the  _thing's_  blood.

"We're going to have to go to the Waystation, aren't we?" Stone spoke resignedly.

"Yeah…sorry," Briscoe nodded.

"Damn…" Stone exploded.

It looked like Millicent Capra was going to get away with murder after all.

_And Adam and I are going to sit in Isolation for at least one month._

_Shit._


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the Incursion at Hogan Place...

_Manhattan Waystation_

Adam Schiff freely admitted he was terrified. He, and his Executive Assistant DA, Ben Stone, were now guests of the FBIA, undergoing evaluation for possible contamination.

_Infection from interdimensional sources…_

Both men had been spattered with liberal amounts of…debris…fleshly matter from the exploded tentacles of a creature from the  _Other Side_ , and also with its blood.

Now, Schiff and Stone were both  _here_ , at Manhattan's FBIA Waystation, under Federally Mandated Quarantine in separate Isolation Units, awaiting the verdict.

Adam Schiff hadn't been wounded in the attack, no open wounds at all, so, after the Mandatory Fumigation and shower-a distinctly uncomfortable procedure, especially the Fumigation-he was fairly sure he was going to be fine.

Ben Stone, though…

Schiff would never forget the office door blowing apart, right in Ben Stone's face...

_Thank God for ADA Michael Cutter…_

Cutter, only hired just that week, had acted with speed and acumen, hurling pieces of the door off, hauling Stone over his shoulders, and running down the stairs, like a madman.

Ben Stone…

_Cuts and bruises all over…_

Schiff sighed, closed his eyes, and prayed.

_Not Ben, dear Lord. Please, not him…_

…..

Ben Stone felt like shit on a shingle. He ached everywhere, from head to toe. The hospital room he was in was good, as hospital rooms went. The bed was wider, and longer, than the typical hospital bed, with warm blankets, and soft pillows.

But, Stone was also running a fever, a high one, and even he knew that wasn't a good sign.

_I've been infected._

If he were lucky, it would be a quick death, with a minimum of pain. If he wasn't, well…

He'd heard all the stories about what happened to infected victims, their bodies warped and twisted as their DNA was over-written, by something monstrously alien; and he knew the fate of such victims.

_Euthanasia…_

Detective Jack McCoy was with the doctors too.

_Why is that?_ Stone wondered.

The FBIA doctor, Alfred Barret, motioned McCoy forward.

"We've had good luck with using Detective McCoy's blood as a vaccine," the doctor said. "So, here's hoping it works here too."

"Will it work?" Stone rubbed his aching head as he spoke.

"We think so," Barret replied. "We've had some success in Omaha. People were infected in an Incursion there. We used Jack's blood, and their symptoms went away; mutations apparently reverting. You'll experience some discomfort, maybe even major discomfort. But a possible cure lies at the end of that road."

"I'll take it!" Stone spoke fervently.

Anything would be better than his body being twisted into something monstrous, or his brain…

"Even if it works, we'll still need to keep you in Isolation for a year, though. Just to be sure." Barret said.

"A whole year…" Stone sighed as he laid his aching head back on the pillow.

"I'll need to tell Adam," he finally said.

"I'll tell him," the doctor produce a syringe. "No time to waste. We have to start treatment now."

…..

"Adam!" Schiff turned at the sound of Claire Kincaid's voice. The ADA was breathless as she ran up and hugged him tightly in the Waiting Room.

"They released you?" relief in her eyes and voice.

"Yes," Adam felt nothing but relief at being released.

_I'm in the clear…_

"What about Ben, Adam?"

He sighed at Kincaid's fearful question.

"They won't let me in to see him," he spoke fretfully. "Think it might be bad. If you know any prayers, now would be a good time."

A door opened, and Dr. Alfred Barret stepped into the Waiting Room, features grim. Schiff focused his attention on the doctor.

"How is he?"

The man drew a deep breath.

"EADA Ben Stone has been infected."

Schiff wavered, felt Claire Kincaid grip his arm. Ben Stone had just been sentenced to death, and there was nothing Schiff could do to make things good again. He felt Barret's hands on his shoulders.

"We have hope," the doctor said. "We have a…vaccine…a possible cure."

"A… _cure?_ "

"Before you get your hopes up, it's in the experimental stages," Barret admitted. "People have been cured in Omaha though."

"So, Ben could be fine?"

"He could," the doctor affirmed. "Maybe…"

Schiff stood there.

"How long before you know?"

"We'll know in about a week," Barret said. "But, even if it works, there will be a Mandatory Quarantine lasting for one year. Just to be sure."

"I see…"

"Mr. Stone suggested Miss Kincaid as his interim replacement…"

_"_ _What?"_

Claire Kincaid looked just a touch wild about the eyes.

"He did, did he?" Schiff grunted, feeling faintly amused, in spite of all the fear.

"Adam…"

"It's only for a year, Miss Kincaid," Adam spoke firmly. "You'll be fine as my Acting EADA."

"But…" Kincaid was floundering. "What…if…"

"If the worst happens, we'll make more permanent arrangements. Ben's a healthy man, and he'll have the best treatment the FBIA can provide; which is considerable."

Schiff spoke more confidently than he really felt.

_So heartfelt prayer wouldn't be amiss right now…_


	18. Chapter 18

_Manhattan Waystation_

Jack McCoy was sitting, feeling quite dejected, in the Waystation's Mess Hall. He had been going there every day, trying to open the Reality Gates that led to the Mushroom King, a  _very_  patient Lennie Briscoe in attendance.

McCoy had been doing this for the entire last three months. Ever since that attack on Hogan Place; the one that had almost gotten both Adam Schiff and Ben Stone killed. Fortunately, McCoy's blood was a very effective vaccine…

The experts must have been feeling  _really_ optimistic. They only kept Stone in Isolation for just over a month.

_So…one more life saved. One more person the FBIA won't have to…Euthanize._

Earth finally had a weapon against the enemy. The scientists, and the military, had created a reliable delivery system. Only one problem remained…

McCoy sighed as he stared at the wall.

_I sit here, day after day, trying to figure out how to open those Reality Gates…_

McCoy had tried just about everything he could think of; even Zen Meditation…

_Nada…Zip…Zilch…_

He sighed again.

_If I can't learn how to open those damn Gates, we'll be stuck, waiting on it…The Mushroom King…to open the Gates._

Earth would lose the ability to take the fight to the Other Side, and  _that_  was the only way they would ever win this…war.

The strategists were all saying this. But, more to the point, Jack McCoy knew it for fact. He knew it in his bones and blood.

"Maybe you're trying too hard, Jack."

That was Lennie Briscoe, sitting quietly at a nearby bench, eating a peanut butter sandwich.

"You're tying yourself into knots trying to do this," the detective continued. "You need a breather."

Frustrated, McCoy walked over to his partner's table, took a seat.

"I don't know what to do," he admitted. "When I blasted those tentacles, three months ago, it was like the time I took Michael Shepherd down. Remember?"

…..

"Yeah, Jack…" Lennie Briscoe nodded as he sipped his coffee. Michael Shepherd had hurled Jack McCoy into a wall, and taken both of his guns, the Police Issue Revolver,  _and_  the FBIA Issue Blaster; and Jack McCoy…

"You went telekinetic," Briscoe remembered. "You took him down, and retrieved your weapons, all without moving a muscle."

He put his coffee down.

"When Hogan Place was attacked, both Adam Schiff and Ben Stone say your eyes were glowing. Then, the tentacles exploded…"

Briscoe sighed, then continued.

"I've got an idea, Jack. Try to remember what you felt, exactly at that point in time. Like maybe terror? That was what I was feeling at the time. Nothing like good, old-fashioned adrenalin to get things moving."

"But I wasn't afraid," McCoy looked down at the table's surface.

"Then, what  _were_  you feeling, Jack?"

Head still bowed, hands clasped together in front, and Briscoe was reminded of how helpless  _he_  had felt at the time.

" _Rage…_ " McCoy finally whispered. "Rage at the fact that both Schiff and Stone were going to die, and there was nothing I could do to stop it."

"Then, remember that rage, how you felt then. Hold on to it…Immerse yourself in it, how helpless you felt then."

…..

Jack McCoy remembered…

He remembered how Ben Stone's office door had exploded in his face, how Michael Cutter had hauled the stunned EADA over his shoulders, how he had run down the stairs, everyone following behind.

Then…

All the windows at the back of Hogan Place exploded...

By the time McCoy had made it down to the back, everyone had fled.

Except for Adam Schiff, and Ben Stone, both cowering in mortal terror; and those tentacles, impossibly huge…impossibly long, reaching down…reaching down for them…

_And I…_

Jack McCoy had been overcome by rage, a blinding fury. The fury, the rage, boiled up, catching fire in his veins, erasing everything in a brilliant haze of light, and fire.

And those reaching, grasping tentacles died, blasted to bits…

…..

Jack McCoy sat there, in the Mess Hall, hands clasped together, and Lennie Briscoe noted how tightly those hands clasped each other, the grip white-knuckled, tendons standing out.

McCoy seemed barely to be breathing. He lifted his head.

Briscoe felt his breath catch. His partner's eyes glowed brightly, a hot white light filling those dark eyes.

"Okay…Jack…" Briscoe was aware of the other FBIA Agents in the room, taking up position in the room, ready for anything.

Keller had been right after all, it seemed, when he told Briscoe he might be able to help McCoy.

_Now, it's time to see if this works…_

"Okay, Jack…" he repeated. "Let's see what you can do. Open that fucking Reality Gate!"

McCoy sat there, unmoving. Then, the space in front of him rippled...

Abruptly, it was a wide space, tall enough, and wide enough, to put a Jeep through, and it gave out on this endless vista…

Miles upon miles of gray soil, with three-foot-tall mushroom-like extrusions. The air on this other side smelled like nothing Briscoe had ever smelled before; tangy, and alarming…

For a minute, everyone, all the FBIA specialists, and Briscoe, stared at the sight.

Then, the…door…closed, and everything was back to normal.

…..

Jack McCoy slumped wearily, wiped by sudden fatigue. Briscoe had been sitting across from him before. Now, he was  _here_ , by his side, supporting him.

"Did I do it?" he asked Briscoe.

"Yeah, Partner…" Briscoe motioned for the Medics, suddenly in attendance too, to come over.

"You did it, Jack," Briscoe continued. "And it was everything your dreams made it out to be."

"Yes, it was," FBIA Agent David Keller was here too. "And now, we have everything we need to get the job done. We can take the fight right to the enemy. We can take it right to the Mushroom King"


	19. Chapter 19

Several months had passed, and now it was Detective Lennie Briscoe's turn to have his professional career take a turn he literally didn't expect.

Now, not only was he a Sergeant of Police, he was also a Junior Grade FBIA Shadow Stalker. It was funny, in a way…

Here, in the FBIA, Jack McCoy was the Senior Agent, whereas at the 27th Precinct it was Briscoe who called the shots.

_It makes for interesting times…_

Lennie sighed as he watched Jack McCoy.

The man was working hard, he had been  _worked_ hard. But, after several months of unrelenting effort, he finally reached the point where he could open Reality Gates pretty much on demand, and-more importantly-with a minimum of effort.

While that was going on, the FBIA techies were dreaming up weapons and delivery systems.

_And recon missions…_

The scientists, and engineers, had built a series of what they called  _scan-droids…_

They were tiny little things, each equipped with an antigravity device-which blew Briscoe's mind no end-and long range scanners capable of scanning for biological, geological, and thermal patterns.

With the Gates open, those scan-droids were sent out, by the thousands; their one mission, to locate the Mushroom King.

…..

"My god…" Senior FBI Agent David Keller stared at the screen.

"Will you  _look_  at that thing?"

Jack McCoy's Mushroom King, in all its dubious, Technicolor glory, sat dead center on the screen.

**_That's_ ** _a mushroom?_

It looked like a Picasso painting; various, and  _very_  assorted parts, some vegetable, others clearly animal, haphazardly cobbled together; and it was clear to everyone in the large Conference Room, that they were only looking at the upper half of the incredibly huge... _thing_ …squatting in the center of a desolate plain.

_Jack McCoy had said the greater part of the beast lay below-ground, its roots connecting it to millions of fungi dotting the entire world._

The visible part of the Mushroom King was nightmare enough to look at. Huge mammalian eyes studded the whole body, regarding its surroundings with an unblinking gaze.

Those eyes couldn't blink.

_No eyelids to blink with…_

The entire thing was the most incredible, and ridiculous-looking, hodge-podge the FBIA agent had ever seen; tentacles snaking everywhere, some studded with miniature unlidded eyes, others with sharp teeth, clearly visible, even at this distance. .

"That's a mad scientist's wet dream right there," someone commented from behind Keller.

"How the hell did that thing ever evolve in the first place?"

"One catastrophic accident at a time," an evolutionary biologist replied from the rear. "We were able to snip off a sliver, or two when its back was turned, so to speak."

"I really hope you didn't bring those specimens  _here_  for analysis," someone snarked.

_With good reason,_ Keller thought. The possibility of a world-spanning contamination would have been too dangerous for anyone to allow it.

""No, Cal," the biologist assured everyone. "We were able to sneak a small Med Lab in, completely computer-operated. We conducted our research remotely. That thing's the most outrageous chimera ever recorded. No wonder it can't breed. It's not one single species. It's  _every_  Terran species ever known, all contained in this single bioform. We even detected the genetic signs of Homo sapiens, although we can't be sure those don't originate from our own world. We can be fairly sure that it's dying. But we're also fairly sure it won't go down without a fight."

"And  _that_ is the question," Keller took command. "How do we kill it?"

"I'd say nuke the hell out of it," an officer wearing the insignia of a General in the Armed Forces said.

"Can't," a scientist spoke up. "Whatever we do, we'll have to keep the Reality Gates open while we do this. Also, while we were wrong about Hiroshima and Nagasaki fraying the edges of the Gates, as it turns out, nuclear weaponry is still an important part of the equation."

"Explain, please," Keller ordered; and the scientist took a deep breath.

"Our scans indicate that a serious nuclear exchange occured there, possibly thousands of years ago."

There was a dead silence in the Council Room, all ears on the young man as he continued.

"This Earth is apparently far older than our Earth, and the Mushroom King is the sole survivor of an all-out Nuclear War; the only lifeform to survive the nuclear holocaust.  _It_ didn't destroy the world. Our analogues did."

_"_ _Jesus…"_ Someone at the back murmured.

"Okay," Keller sat back. "How do we fight it, then?"

"In the absence of nukes," the general advised. "I'd suggest conventional weaponry. If Nuclear weapons are fraught, then I'd say biological weapons would be equally fraught. Except, possibly, for that Shadow Stalker I've heard so much about. The one who opened the Reality Gates on  _our_ side."

"FBIA Agent John James McCoy will be too busy opening the Gate, and  _keeping_  it open while we wage our…counterattack." Keller spoke firmly. "He is simply too important for his talents to be wasted otherwise."

He stood, regarding everyone in the packed Conference Room.

"We know what we have to do to assure survival for our world, and every living thing on it. Now, let's figure out  _how_ …"


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle for Earth.

_Somewhere in the Middle West…_

_D-Day…_

Detective Lennie Briscoe sighed as he stood next to Jack McCoy. Now, Briscoe was under the direct command of Senior FBIA Agent David Keller, and his orders had been specific.

_Stay with Jack, and protect him from everything. He's got to be able to open the Reality Gate, and_ _**keep** _ _it open. Even in a war zone…_

Now, everyone, including the United States Armed Forces, were  _here_ , out in the middle of this vast featureless plain.

The Marines were, as the saying went, locked and loaded. There were also several installations of Mobile Heavy gunnery, including SCUDs, and Patriots.

Everyone was armed to the teeth; even Lennie, who hadn't worn this kind of gear since his Mandatory Term of Service in the army back in the Sixties.

The only one  _not_  armed and geared for war was Jack McCoy.

_His only job is to open the Gate, so everyone else can do what they have to._

And Lennie's only job was to make sure nothing prevented Jack from doing  _his_  job.

"I'm glad you're here," McCoy said as he glanced out at the plain.

"Yeah…" Briscoe looked over to his partner. "I'm glad too.  _Someone's_  got to see that you don't get into any trouble."

"A fact for which I am profoundly grateful," McCoy looked at him, eyes twinkling. "When are we going to get started on this?"

"Any time now, I'm sure," Briscoe settled his flak helmet.

…..

The Comm Station at McCoy's right rustled.

_All hands, deploy flak helmets and breather masks._

Jack McCoy had already donned both, was ready for the next order. Marines, armed with FBIA Issue Heavy Blasters took up position up ahead, along with some pretty nasty-looking heavy artillery.

_Shadow Stalker One, proceed to open Gate._

So, McCoy took a deep breath, centered himself. It was easy now, as easy as breathing.

Space rippled in front of the assembled Marines, and then…

…..

 _There it is…_ Briscoe took up position next to McCoy, likewise armed with a Heavy Blaster, a much more powerful version of the blasters he and McCoy generally carried.

The so-called Mushroom King stood around one hundred feet ahead, an even more disturbing sight to look at in real life.

Those huge unblinking eyes were the most truly… _alien_ …eyes Briscoe had ever seen.

McCoy, for his part, stood there, eyes staring ahead as he focused on keeping the Gate open.

_Artillery fire!_

At the command, all the artillery fired, hundreds of missiles flying to the target.

The thing finally seemed to notice. Suddenly, scores of tentacles boiled out of the ground surrounding the creature, the biggest heading right for Jack McCoy.

Most of the tentacles were blasted apart by the first salvo. But not that big one.

So Briscoe moved in front of McCoy, leveled his heavy blaster, and fired.

The heavy bolt hit that tentacle head on, vaporizing it utterly.

Then, just when Briscoe was thinking this might be an easy fight after all, the Mushroom King… _moved._

It leaped, ground exploding under its body, snaking roots trailing and tearing, as it leaped right through the open Reality Gate. Right at Jack McCoy.

Heart in throat, Briscoe did the only thing he could.

He grabbed Jack McCoy roughly, and hurled himself, his partner in tow, off to the right, both narrowly avoiding the rush of fanged tentacles coming their way.

McCoy lost the Gate. But that didn't matter now.

_We thought the damn thing was immobile. Now, here it is, on_ _**our** _ _side. On_ _**our** _ _world._

No one was quite prepared for that.

Then, after a stunned second…

_"_ _**Fire at will!** _ _"_

The thing was mowing through the Marines. But those guys were tough. Most of them rolled out of the way, and came up firing.

And, while they kept the Mushroom King occupied, other soldiers moved to reposition the heavy guns.

Briscoe looked Jack McCoy over.

The other man seemed to be fine.

But his eyes were glowing.

…..

"Jack?"

Jack McCoy heard Lennie Briscoe's voice over the raging surf in his head. He felt…jangled…something  _very_  powerful running down his nerves, thundering through his veins.

"Are my eyes glowing?" his voice sounded distant to his ears.

"Yeah, Jack…" Briscoe's voice sounded distant too. "Like a lighthouse. Think you can do anything?"

"It needs to die."

Jack knew that. The Mushroom King had outstripped all the resources left on its world. If left to its own devices, it would do the same to  _this_ world too.

He did feel sorry for it, now that he, and everyone knew how it had been created.

_But now it's us, or it…_

So, Jack McCoy opened his eyes,  _really_ opened his eyes…

Millions…billions… _trillions_ of molecules. They swirled in the air around him as he inhaled. They were clear to be seen in the solid ground at his feet, and there in the spilt blood on the floor.

They were everywhere.

They were  _everything_ …

…..

Lennie Briscoe was worried.

_It needs to die…_

Jack McCoy had said that. Then, he breathed in, a deep breath, and closed his glowing eyes.

"You okay, Jack?"

A raised hand was all the answer he got. Jack stood there, head bowed, breathing deeply, as the battle raged all around.

Then, he lifted his head and opened his eyes.

The air all around the Mushroom King began to ripple.

_He's going to kick the Mushroom King back into its own world, I guess?_

Lennie Briscoe was wrong.

"For my Father…" McCoy whispered. "For my Mother, Brother, and Sister…"

The rippling air shivered, light and energy shooting all through…

_Oh…boy…_

"Everyone get back!" Briscoe yelled at the top of his lungs.

…..

McCoy barely heard Briscoe's voice, and he certainly didn't see all the Marines and gunners move out of the way.

All he saw was the Mushroom King, all the death and destruction it had caused.

_It used to be a simple mushroom, until the Humans there started a war they couldn't finish…_

All through those millennia since, this Mushroom King had simply been trying to live. To survive.

 _Not at our expense,_  McCoy told it.  _We have a right to live too…_

The power inside began to build up. Then…

_Now…_

…..

Lennie Briscoe was torn. On the one hand, he didn't want to be anywhere near when Jack McCoy did whatever it was he was powering up to do. The air rippled around the Mushroom King…

Something frighteningly  _Huge_  was about to happen.

On the other hand, though…

_Jack's my partner. Even here, on a field of battle, facing a creature made of the stuff of nightmares…_

He stayed by Jack McCoy's side.

Then,  _something_  began to…shred the Mushroom King apart, swatting frenzied tentacles aside, like swatting flies.

And, piece by dreadful piece, the thing's body started to disintegrate; tentacles…huge staring eyes…the creature's main body…slowly flaking off into sparkling dust that shivered into nothingness; the field gone silent as everyone stopped to watch, and maybe pray…

Certainly, Lennie Briscoe was praying. Was this…invasion finally at an end?

After a time, the last little bit of the Mushroom King was finally gone. Not even dust remained.

Lennie looked back to Jack. McCoy's eyes were back to normal now, and he was trembling as he stared at the empty space where the Mushroom King had been.

"He, buddy…" Briscoe walked up to McCoy. "I think you did it, Jack. You've saved us all. Saved the world."

McCoy stood there, still trembling. He smiled, and it was a smile Briscoe had never seen from McCoy before. Brilliant and open, like the Sun lighting his whole face.

Then, his legs buckled.

"Medic!" Briscoe caught McCoy before he hit the ground; did what he could before the EMTs got there.

McCoy was caught in what even Briscoe knew was a Grand Mal seizure, body wracked by spasms, eyes rolled up in the back of his head…

 _Please, God…_ Briscoe clung to his friend.  _He saved us all. Don't let him die…_

…..

_He's nine years old. Gonna be ten soon. He wants to be a cop, like his old man. He can hear Mom and Dad in the Kitchen. So he continues to play in the living Room, running a toy cop car over the rug._

_Light flares, and suddenly, there are monsters in the Living Room too, and he screams in terror._

…..

_He opens his eyes. He's in a bedroom. Not his own. There's a grownup sitting by his side, watching him carefully._

_…_ _.._

_"_ _I want to kill them!" Jack's fifteen years old now, and he understands why he's lived all these years in Isolation._

**_Because of those monsters that killed my Mom, my Baby Brother and Sister, and took my Old Man. Those monsters made me into a monster too…_ **

_"_ _I want to kill those monsters!" Jack looks to his Legal Guardian…or is it Jailer?_

_Jack doesn't know which role the man is playing today, and it doesn't really matter anyway…_

_All Jack knows is that he trusts this man to tell him the truth, no matter how brutal that truth turns out to be…_

_…_ _.._

_Shadow Stalker…a brilliant mind. Bit of a nutcase too._

_But, alive…_

_The darkness roiled a little._

**_I'm alive?_ **

Jack McCoy opened his eyes slowly, taking in his surroundings, realized he knew the place.

His Dedicated Bedroom at the Manhattan Waystation.

But, what was that rumbling sound?

He turned his head, and there Lennie Briscoe was, sprawled in a chair, head tilted back, and the sounds coming out of his mouth would have woken the dead…

"God…" McCoy grumbled as he forced himself to sit, and Lennie awoke with a snort, sitting bolt upright.

"Jack?" the man stumbled out of his chair. "You awake?"

"Must be…" Jack looked up at Lennie. "Are we okay?"

"Well…I'm okay," relief was clear in Lennie's eyes and voice. "The docs say you'll be fine too…"

"We did it?"

"Yeah…" Lennie nodded. "Well, it was mostly  _you_ , but the experts think it's all done. You turned the bastard into dust, Jack. It's gone."

"I know."

McCoy  _did_ know that. Things felt…different now; different in a good way, although he had no idea how he could know something like that.

But he did.

"I could always check the Gates," McCoy felt drowsy as he spoke.

"Later, Jack," he felt Lennie pull the blankets up around him. "When you're feeling better. Okay, Partner?"

"Yeah," McCoy agreed. "When I'm feeling better."

He fell back into sleep, a sleep utterly without the nightmare that he'd had every night since  _that_  night.

He could rest now.

The Monster was dead.

Fin


End file.
